^§^ 


WOMAN 


NINETEENTH    CENTURY, 


KINDRED   PAPERS 


RELATING    TO    THE 


Sjkn,  ei;Dniiti0it,  ani  §uim  of  Mmm, 


BY 

MARGARET   FULLER   OSSOLL 

// 

AUTHOR   OF    "art,    LITERATURE,    AND    THE    DRAMA,"    "AT   HOME   AND 
ABROAD,"    "LIFE   AVITHOUT  AND    LIFE   WITHIN,"    ETC. 


EDITED  BY   HER  BROTHER, 

ARTHUR   B.  FULLER. 

WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY  HORACE  GREELEY. 


BOSTON: 
BROWN,  TAGGARD    AND    CHASE. 

NEW  YORK:   SHELDON  &  CO.    PHILADELPHIA:   J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  &  CO. 
LONDON:   SAMPSON  LOW,  SON  &  CO. 


urtwjwn^'^  <^r 


Ui 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1855,  by 

A.   B.   FULLER, 

In  tlie  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


RIVEBSIOE,    CAMBRIDGE: 
PBINTSD  BT  H.  0.  HOCQHTON  AND  COMPANY. 


^ 


It  has  been  thought  desirable  that  such  papers  of  Margaret 
Fuller  Ossoli  as  pertained  to  the  condition,  sphere  and  duties  of 
Woman,  should  be  collected  and  published  together.  The  present 
volume  contains  not  only  her  "  Woman  in  the  Nineteenth  Cen- 
tury,"—  which  has  been  before  published,  but  for  some  years  out 
of  print,  and  inaccessible  to  readers  who  have  sought  it, —  but 
also  several  other  papers,  which  have  appeared  at  various  times 
in  the  Tribune  and  elsewhere,  and  yet  more  which  have  never  till 
now  been  published. 

My  free  access  to  her  private  manuscripts  has  given  to  me 
many  papers,  relating  to  Woman,  never  intended  for  publication, 
which  yet  seem  needful  to  this  volume,  in  order  to  present  a  com- 
plete and  harmonious  view  of  her  thoughts  on  this  important 
theme.  I  have  preferred  to  publish  them  without  alteration,  as 
most  just  to  her  views  and  to  the  reader  ;  though,  doubtless,  she 
would  have  varied  their  expression  and  form  before  giving  them 
to  the  press. 

It  seems  right  here  to  remark,  in  order  to  avoid  any  misappre- 
hension, that  Margaret  Ossoli's  thoughts  were  not  directed  so 
exclusively  to  the  subject  of  the  present  volume  as  have  been 
-'the  minds  of  some  others.  j(A.s  to  the  movement  for  the  emanci- 
pation of  Woman  from  tYSQ  unjust  burdens  and  disabilities  to 
which  she  has  been  subject  even  in  our  own  land,  my  sister  could 
neither  remain  indifferent  nor  silent ;  yet  she  preferred,  as  in 
respect  to  every  other  reform,  to  act  independently  and  to  speak 


IV  PREFACE. 

independently  from  her  own  stand-point,  and  never  to  merge  her 
individuality  in  any  existing  organization.  This  she  did,  not  as 
condemning  such  organizations,  nor  yet  as  judging  them  wholly 
unwise  or  uncalled  for,  but  because  she  believed  she  could  herself 
accomplish  more  for  their  true  and  high  objects,  unfettered  by 
such  organizations,  than  if  a  member  of  them.  The  opinions 
avowed  throughout  this  volume,  and  wherever  expressed,  will, 
then,  be  found,  whether  consonant  with  the  reader's  or  no, 
in  all  cases  honestly  and  heartily  her  own, —  the  result  of  her 
own  thought  and  faith.  Slie  never  speaks,  never  did  speak,  for 
any  clique  or  sect,  but  as  her  individual  judgment,  her  reason  and 
conscience,  her  observation  and  experience,  taught  her  to  speak. 

I  could  have  wished  that  some  one  other  than  a  brother  shouL 
have  spoken  a  few  fitting  words  of  Margaret  Fuller,  as  a  woman, 
to  form  a  brief  but  proper  accompaniment  to  this  volume, 
which  may  reach  some  who  have  never  read  her  "  Memoirs," 
recently  published,  or  have  never  known  her  in  personal  life. 
This  seemed  the  more  desirable,  because  the  strictest  verity  in 
speaking  of  her  must  seem,  to  such  as  knew  her  not,  to  be  eulogy. 
But,  after  several  disappointments  as  to  the  .editorship  of  the 
volume,  the  duty,  at  last,  has  seemed  to  devolve  upon  me  ;  and 
I  have  no  reason  to  shrink  from  it  but  a  sense  of  inadequacy . 

It  is  often  supposed  that  literary  women,  and  those  who  are 
active  and  earnest  in  promoting  great  intellectual,  philanthropic, 
or  religious  movements,  must  of  necessity  neglect  the  domestic 
concerns  of  life.  It  may  be  that  this  is  sometimes  so,  nor  can 
such  neglect  be  too  severely  reprehended  ;  yet  this  is  by  no  means 
a  necessary  result.  Some  of  the  most  devoted  mothers  the  world 
has  ever  known,  and  whose  homes  were  the  abode  of  every  domestic 
virtue,  themselves  the  embodiment  of  all  these,  have  been  women 
whose  minds  were  highly  cultured,  who  loved  and  devoted  both 
thought  and  time  to  literature,  and  were  active  in  philanthropic 
and  diffusive  efforts  for  the  welfare  of  the  race. 

The  letter  to  M.,  which  is  published  on  page  345,  is  inserted 
chiefly  as  showing  the  integrity  and  wisdom  with  which  Margaret 
advised  her  friends  ;  the  frankness  with  which  she  pointed  out  to 
every  young  woman  who  asked  counsel  any  deficiencies  of  char- 
acter, and  the»duties  of  life  ;  and  that  among  these  latter  she  gave 


/ 


PREFACE.  V 

due  place  to  the  humblest  which  serve  to  make  home  attractive 
and  happy.  It  is  but  simple  justice  for  me  to  bear,  in  conjunction 
with  many  others,  my  tribute  to  her  domestic  virtues  and  fidelity 
to  all  home  duties.  That  her  mind  found  chief  delight  in  the 
lowest  forms  of  these  duties  may  not  be  true,  and  it  would  be 
sad  if  it  were  ;  but  it  is  strictly  true  that  none,  however  humble, 
were  either  slighted  or  shunned. 

In  comnon  with  a  younger  sister  and  brother,  I  shared  her 
care  in  my  early  instruction,  and  found  ever  one  of  the  truest 
counsellors  in  a  sister  who  scorned  not  the  youngest  mind  nor  the 
simplest  intellectual  wants  in  her  love  for  communion,  through 
converse  or  the  silent  page,  with  the  minds  of  the  greatest  and 
most  gifted. 

During  a  lingering  illness,  in  childhood,  well  do  I  remember  her 
as  the  angel  of  the  sick-chamber,  reading  much  to  me  from  books 
useful  and  appropriate,  and  telling  many  a  narrative  not  only 
fitted  to  wile  away  the  pain  of  disease  and  the  weariness  of  long 
confinement,  but  to  elevate  the  mind  and  heart,  and  to  direct 
them  to  all  things  noble  and  holy ;  ever  ready  to  watch  while  I 
Blept,  and  to  perform  every  gentle  and  kindly  office.  But  her 
care  of  the  sick —  that  she  did  not  neglect,  but  was  eminent  in  that 
sphere  of  womanly  duty,  even  when  no  tie  of  kindred  claimed  this 
of  her,  Mr.  Cass's  letter  abundantly  shows ;  and  also  that  this 
gentleness  was  united  to  a  heroism  which  most  call  manly,  but 
which,  I  believe,  may  as  justly  be  called  truly  womanly.  Mr. 
Cass's  letter  is  inserted  because  it  arrived  too  late  to  find  a  place 
in  her  "  Memoirs,"  and  yet  more  because  it  bears  much  on  Mar- 
garet Ossoli's  characteristics  as  a  woman. 

A  few  also  of  her  private  letters  and  papers,  not  bearing,  save, 
indirectly,  on  the  subject  of  this  volume,  are  yet  inserted  in  it,  as 
further  illustrative  of  her  thought,  feeling  and  action,  in  life's 
various  relations.  It  is  believed  that  nothing  which  exhibits  a 
true  woman,  especially  in  her  relations  to  others  as  friend,  sister, 
daughter,  wife,  or  mother,  can  fail  to  interest  and  be  of  value  to 
her  sex,  indeed  to  all  who  are  interested  in  human  welfare  and 
advancement,  since  these  latter  so  much  depend  on  the  fidelity  of 
Woman.  Nor  will  anything  pertaining  to  the  education  and 
A=* 


VI  PREFACE. 

care  of  children  be  deemed  irrelevant,  especially  by  mothers,  upon 
whom  these  duties  must  always  largely  devolve. 

Of  the  intellectual  gifts  and  wide  culture  of  Margaret  Fuller 
there  is  no  need  that  I  should  speak,  nor  is  it  wise  that  one  stand- 
ing in  my  relation  to  her  should.  Those  who  knew  her  personally 
feel  that  no  words  ever  flowed  from  her  pen  equalling  the  eloquent 
utterances  of  her  lips  ;  yet  her  works,  though  not  always  a  clear 
expression  of  her  thoughts,  are  the  evidences  to  which  the  world 
will  look  as  proof  of  her  mental  greatness. 

On  one  point,  however,  I  do  wish  to  bear  testimony — not  needed 
with  those  who  knew  her  well,  but  interesting,  perhaps,  to  some 
readers  into  whose  hands  this  volume  may  fall.  It  is  on  a  subject 
which  one  who  knew  her  from  his  childhood  up  —  at  home^  where 
best  the  heart  and  soul  can  be  known,  —  in  the  unrestrained 
hours  of  domestic  life, — in  various  scenes,  and  not  for  a  few 
days,  nor  under  any  peculiar  circumstances  —  can  speak  with 
confidence,  because  he  speaks  what  he  "  doth  know,  and  testi- 
fieth  what  he  hath  seen."  It  relates  to  her  Christian  faith  and 
hope.  "  With  all  her  intellectual  gifts,  with  all  her  high,  moral, 
and  noble  characteristics,"  there  are  some  who  will  ask,  "  was 
her  intellectual  power  sanctified  by  Christian  faith  as  its  basis  ? 
Were  her  moral  qualities,  her  beneficent  life,  the  results  of  a 
renewed  heart?"  I  feel  no  hesitation  here,  nor  would  think  it 
worth  while  to  answer  such  questions  at  all,  were  her  life  to  be 
read  and  known  by  all  who  read  this  volume,  and  were  I  not 
influenced  also,  in  some  degree,  by  the  tone  which  has  character- 
ized a  few  sectarian  reviews  of  her  works,  chiefly  in  foreign 
periodicals.  Surely,  if  the  Saviour's  test,  "  By  their  fruits  ye 
shall  know  them,"  be  the  true  one,  Margaret  Ossoli  was  pre- 
eminently a  Christian.  If  a  life  of  constant  self-sacrifice,  —  if 
devotion  to  the  welfare  of  kindred  and  the  race,  —  if  conformity 
to  what  she  believed  God's  law,  so  that  her  life  seemed  ever  tne 
truest  form  of  prayer,  active  obedience  to  the  Deity,  —  in  fine,  if 
carrying  Christianity  into  all  the  departments  of  action,  so  far  as 
human  infirmity  allows,  —  if  these  be  the  proofs  of  a  Christian, 
then  whoever  has  read  her  "  Memoirs  "  thoughtfully,  and  with- 
out sectarian  prejudice  or  the  use  of  sectarian  standards  of  judg- 
ment, must  feel  her  to  have  been  a  Christian.     But  not  alone  in 


PREFACE.  VII 

outward  life,  in  mind  and  heart,  too,  was  she  a  Christian.  The 
being  brought  into  frequent  and  intimate  contact  with  religious 
persons  has  been  one  of  the  chief  privileges  of  my  vocation,  but 
never  y?t  have  I  met  with  any  person  whose  reverence  for  holy 
things  was  deeper  than  hers.  Abhorring,  as  all  honest  minds 
must,  every  species  of  cant,  she  respected  true  religious  thought 
and  feeling,  by  whomsoever  cherished.  God  seemed  nearer  to  her 
than  to  any  person  I  have  ever  known.  In  the  influences  of 
His  Holy  Spirit  upon  the  heart  she  fully  believed,  and  in  experi- 
ence realized  them.  Jesus,  the  friend  of  man,  can  never  have 
been  more  truly  loved  and  honored  than  she  loved  and  honored 
him.  I  am  aware  that  this  is  strong  language,  but  strength  of 
language  cannot  equal  the  strength  of  my  conviction  on  a  point 
where  I  have  had  the  best  opportunities  of  judgment.  Rich  as  is 
the  religion  of  Jesus  in  its  list  of  holy  confessors,  yet  it  can  spare 
and  would  exclude  none  who  in  heart,  mind  and  life,  confessed 
and  reverenced  him  as  did  she.  Among  my  earliest  recollections, 
is  her  devoting  much  time  to  a  thorough  examination  of  the 
evidences  of  Christianity,  and  ultimately  declaring  that  to  her, 
better  than  all  arguments  or  usual  processes  of  proof,  was  the 
soul's  want  of  a  divine  religion,  and  the  voice  within  that  soul 
which  declared  the  teachings  of  Christ  to  be  true  and  from  God  ; 
and  one  of  my  most  cherished  possessions  is  that  Bible  which  she 
so  diligently  and  thoughtfully  read,  and  which  bears,  in  her  own 
handwriting,  so  many  proofs  of  discriminating  and  prayerful 
perusal.  As  in  regard  to  reformatory  movements  so  here,  she 
joined  no  organized  body  of  believers,  sympathizing  with  all  of 
them  whose  views  were  noble  and  Christian  ;  deploring  and  bear- 
ing faithful  testimony  against  anything  she  deemed  narrowness  or 
perversion  in  theology  or  life. 

This  volume  from  her  hand  is  now  before  the  reader.  The  fact 
that  a  large  share  of  it  was  never  written  or  revised  by  its 
authoress  for  publication  will  be  kept  in  view^  as  explaining  any 
inaccuracy  of  expression  or  repetition  of  thought,  should  such 
occur  in  its  pages.  Nor  will  it  be  deemed  surprising,  if,  in  papers 
written  by  so  progressive  a  person,  at  so  various  periods  of  life, 
and  under  widely-varied  circumstances,  there  should  not  always 
be  found  perfect  unison  as  to  every  expressed  opinion. 


VIII  PREFACE. 

It  is  probable  that  this  will  soon  be  followed  by  another 
volume,  containing  a  republication  of  "  Summer  on  the  Lakes," 
and  also  the  "  Letters  from  Europe,"  by  the  same  hand. 

In  the  preparation  of  this  volume  much  valuable  assistance  has 
been  afforded  by  Mr.  Greeley,  of  the  New  York  Tribune,  who  has 
been  earnest  in  his  desire  and  efforts  for  the  diffusion  of  what 
Margaret  has  written. 

A.  B.  F. 

Boston,  May  lOth,  1855. 

i 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  problem  of  Woman's  position,  or  "  sphere,"  —  of  her  du- 
ties, responsibilities,  rights  and  immunities  ars  Woman,  —  fitly 
attracts  a  large  and  still-increasing  measure  of  attention  from  the 
thinkers  and  agitators  of  our  time.  The  legislators,  so  called,  — 
those  who  ultimately  enact  into  statutes  what  the  really  govern- 
ing class  (to  wit,  the  thinkers)  have  originated,  matured  and 
gradually  commended  to  the  popular  comprehension  and  accept- 
ance, —  are  not  as  yet  much  occupied  with  this  problem,  only  fit- 
fully worried  and  more  or  less  consciously  puzzled  by  it.  More 
commonly  they  merely  echo  the  mob's  shallow  retort  to  the  pe- 
tition of  any  strong-minded  daughter  or  sister,  who  demands 
that  she  be  allowed  a  voice  in  disposing  of  the  money  wrenched 
from  her  hard  earnings  by  inexorable  taxation,  or  in  shaping  the 
laws  by  which  she  is  ruled,  judged,  and  is  liable  to  be  sentenced 
to  prison  or  to  death,  "  It  is  a  woman's  business  to  obey  her  hus- 
band, keep  his  home  tidy,  and  nourish  and  train  his  children." 
But  when  she  rejoins  to  this,  "  Very  true  ;  but  suppose  I  choose 
not  to  have  a  husband,  or  am  not  chosen  for  a  wife  —  what  then  ? 
I  am  still  subject  to  your  laws.  jWhy  am  I  not  entitled,  as  a 
jrational  human  being,  to  a  voice  in  shaping  them  ?j  I  have  phys- 
aical  needs,  and  must  somehow  earn  a  living.  Why  should  I  not 
me  at  liberty  to  earn  it  in  any  honest  and  useful  calling  ?  "  —  the 
knob's  flout  is  hushed,  and  the  legislator  is  struck  dumb  also. 
They  were  already  at  the  end  of  their  scanty  resources  of  logic,  and 
it  would  be  cruel  for  woman  to  agk  further  :  "  Suppose  me  a  wife, 
and  my  husband  a  drunken  prodigal  —  what  am  I  to  do  then  ? 
May  I  not  earn  food  for  my  babes  without  being  exposed  to  have 
it  snatched  from  their  mouths  to  replenish  the  rumseller's  till,  and 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

aggravate  my  husband's  madness  ?  If  some  sympathizing  relative 
sees  fit  to  leave  me  a  bequest  wherewith  to  keep  my  little  ones 
together,  why  may  I  not  be  legally  enabled  to  secure  this  to  their 
use  and  benefit  ?  In  short,  why  am  I  not  regarded  by  the  law  as 
a  soul,  responsible  for  my  acts~to  God  and  humanity,  and  not  as  a 
mere  body,  devoted  to  the  unreasoning  service  of  my  husband  ?  " 
The  state  gives  no  answer,  and  the  champions  of  her  policy  evince 
vrisdom  in  imitating  her  silence. 

The  writer  of  the  following  pages  was  one  of  the  earliest  as  well 
as  ablest  among  American  women,  to  demand  for  her  sex  equality 
before  the  law  with  her  titular  lord  and  master.  Her  writings  on 
this  subject  have  the  force  which  springs  from  the  ripening  of  pro- 
found reflection  into  assured  conviction.  She  wrote  as  one  who  had 
observed,  and  who  deeply  felt  what  she  deliberately  uttered.  Oth- 
ers have  since  spoken  more  fluently,  more  variously,  with  a  greater 
affluence  of  illustration ;  but  none,  it  is  believed,  more  earnestly 
or  more  forcibly.  It  is  due  to  her  memory,  as  well  as  to  the  great 
and  living  cause  of  which  she  was  so  eminent  and  so  fearless  an 
advocate,  that  what  she  thought  and  said  with  regard  to  the  posi- 
tion of  her  sex  and  its  limitations,  should  be  fully  and  fairly  placed 
before  the  public.  For  several  years  past  her  principal  essay  on 
"  Woman,"  here  given,  has  not  been  purchasable  at  any  price, 
and  has  only  with  great  difficulty  been  accessible  to  the  general 
reader.  To  place  it  within  the  reach  of  those  who  need  and  re- 
quire it,  is  the  main  impulse  to  the  publication  of  this  volume  ; 
but  the  accompanying  essays  and  papers  will  be  found  equally 
worthy  of  thoughtful  consideration. 

H.  Greeley. 


CONTENTS. 


PART   I. 

PAGE 

WOMAN  IN  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY,  .  15 


PART   II. 

MISCELLANIES,      .        .       ^ 183 

Aglauron  and  Latjrie. 183 

Wrongs  and  Duties  of  American  Women,    .        .        .  217 

George  Sand, 228 

The  same  Subject, 231 

consuelo, 237 

Jenny  Lind,  the  "  Consuelo"  of  George  Sand,  .        .  241 

Caroline, 250 

Ever-growing  Li  yes,      .        .        .        .        .        .  256 

Household  Nobleness, 261 

"  Glumdalclitches," 266 

"  Ellen  ;  or,  Forgiye  and  Forget,"  .        .         .  269 

*'  Courrier  des  Etats  Unis," 276 

The  same  Subject,     .         .         .         .         .         .         .  280 


XII  CONTENTS. 

Books  of  Trayel, -.        .  286 

Review  of  Mrs.  Jameson's  Essays,  .        .        .       288 

Woman's  Influence  over  the  Insane,        .        .        .      295 
The  Deaf  and  the  Dumb,       ......  298 

Christmas, 301 

Children's  Books,  «         »  .    .         ,        .        .  311 

Woman  in  Poverty, .  315 

The  Irish  Character, 321 

The  same  Subject, 326 

Educate  Men  and  Women  as  Souls,  .         .       336 


PART   III. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  JOURNALS  AND  LETTERS,        .      341 


APPENDIX, 397 


PREFACE 

TO 

WOMAN  IN  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY. 


The  following  essay  is  a  reproduction,  modified  and  expanded, 
of  an  article  published  in  "  The  Dial,  Boston,  July,  1843,"  under 
the  title  of  "  The  Great  Lawsuit.  — Man  versus  Men  ;  Woman 
versus  Women." 

This  article  excited  a  good  deal  of  sympathy,  and  still  more 
interest.  It  is  in  compliance  with  wishes  expressed  from  many 
quarters  that  it  is  prepared  for  publication  in  its  present  form. 

Objections  having  been  made  to  the  former  title,  as  not  suffi- 
ciently easy  to  be  understood,  the  present  has  been  substituted  as 
expressive  of  the  main  purpose  of  the  essay  ;  though,  by  myself, 
the  other  is  preferred,  partly  for  the  reason  others  do  not 
like  it, —  that  is,  that  it  requires  some  thought  to  see  what  it 
means,  and  might  thus  prepare  the  reader  to  meet  me  on  my  own 
ground.  Besides,  it  offers  a  larger  scope,  and  is,  in  that  way, 
more  just  to  my  desire.  I  meant  by  that  title  to  intimate  the 
fact  that,  while  it  is  the  destiny  of  Man,  in  the  course  of  the  ages, 
to  ascertain  and  fulfil  the  law  of  his  being,  so  that  his  life  shall 
be  seen,  as  a  whole,  to  be  that  of  an  angel  or  messenger,  the 
action  of  prejudices  and  passions  which  attend,  in  the  day,  the 
growth  of  the  individual,  is  continually  obstructing  the  holy  work 
that  is  to  make  the  earth  a  part  of  heaven.  By  Man  I  mean 
both  man  and  woman  ;  these  are  the  two  halves  of  one  thought. 
I  lay  no  especial  stress  on  the  welfare  of  either.  I  believe  that 
the  development  of  the  one  cannot  be  effected  without  that  of  the 
other.  My  highest  wish  is  that  this  truth  should  be  distinctly 
and  rationally  apprehended,  and  the  conditions  of  life  and  free- 

2 


XIV  PREFACE. 

dom  recognized  as  the  same  for  the  daughters  and  the  sons  of 
time  ;  twin  exponents  of  a  divine  thought. 

I  solicit  a  sincere  and  patient  attention  from  those  who  open 
the  following  pages  at  all.  I  solicit  of  women  that  they  will  lay 
it  to  heart  to  ascertain  what  is  for  them  the  liberty  of  law.  It  ia 
for  this,  and  not  for  any,  the  largest,  extension  of  partial  privi- 
leges that  I  seek.  I  ask  them,  if  interested  by  these  suggestions, 
to  search  their  own  experience  and  intuitions  for  better,  and  fill 
up  with  fit  materials  the  trenches  that  hedge  them  in.  From  men 
I  ask  a  noble  and  earnest  attention  to-a,nything  that  can  be 
ofiered  on  this  great  and  still  obscure  subject,  such  as  I  have  met 
from  many  with  whom  I  stand  in  private  relations. 

And  may  truth,  unpolluted  by  prejudice,  vanity  oi  selfishness, 
be  granted  daily  more  and  more  as  the  due  of  inhei  Jtance,  and 
only  valuable  conquest  for  us  all ! 

November  J  1844. 


FOitl 


WOMAN 

IN   THE 

NINETEENTH  CENTURY 


**  Frailty,  thy  name  is  Woman." 
"  The  Earth  waits  for  her  Queen." 

The  connection  between  these  quotations  may  not  be 

obvious,  but  it  is  strict.     Yet  would  any  contradict  us, 

if  we  made  them  applicable  to  the  other  side,  and  began 

also, 

Frailty,  thy  name  is  Man. 
The  Earth  waits  for  its  King  ? 

Yet  Man,  if  not  yet  fully  installed  in  his  powers,  has 
given  much  earnest  of  his  claims.  Frail  he  is  indeed, — 
how  frail !  how  impure  !  Yet  often  has  the  vein  of  gold 
displayed  itself  amid  the  baser  ores,  and  Man  has  ap- 
peared before  us  in  princely  promise  worthy  of  his  future. 
If,  oftentimes,  we  see  the  prodigal  son  feeding  on  the 
husks  in  the  fair  field  no  more  his  own,  anon  we  raise 
the  eyelids,  heavy  from  bitter  tears,  to  behold  in  him  the 
radiant  apparition  of  genius  and  love,  demanding  not 
less  than  the  all  of  goodness,  power  and  beauty.  We 
see  that  in  him  the  largest  claim  finds  a  due  foundation. 


16  WOMAN   IN   THE 

That  claim  is  for  no  partial  sway,  no  exclusive  posses- 
sion. He  cannot  be  satisfied  with  any  one  gift  of  life, 
any  one  department  of  knowledge  or  telescopic  peep  at 
the  heavens.  He  feels  himself  called  to  understand  and 
aid  Nature,  that  she  may,  through  his  intelligence,  be 
raised  and  interpreted ;  to  be  a  student  of,  and  servant 
to.  the  universe-spirit ;  and  king  of  his  planet,  that,  as  an 
angelic  minister,  he  may  bring  it  into  conscious  harmony 
with  the  law  of  that  spirit. 

In  clear,  triumphant  moments,  many  times,  has  rung 
through  the  spheres  the  prophecy  of  his  jubilee ;  and 
those  moments,  though  past  in  time,  have  been  translated 
into  eternity  by  thought ;  the  bright  signs  they  left  hang 
in  the  heavens,  as  single  stars  or  constellations,  and, 
already,  a  thickly  sown  radiance  consoles  the  wanderer 
in  the  darkest  night.  Other  heroes  since  Hercules  have 
fulfilled  the  zodiac  of  beneficent  labors,  and  then  given 
up  their  mortal  part  to  the  fire  without  a  murmur; 
while  no  God  dared  deny  that  they  should  have  their 
reward, 

Siquis  tamen,  Hercule,  siquis 
Forte  Deo  doliturus  erit,  data  prsemia  nollet, 
Sed  meruise  dari  sciet,  invitus  que  probabit, 

Assensere  Dei. 

Sages  and  lawgivers  have  bent  their  whole  nature  to 
the  search  for  truth,  and  thought  themselves  happy  if 
they  could  buy,  with  the  sacrifice  of  all  temporal  ease 
and  pleasure,  one  seed  for  the  future  Eden.  Poets  and 
priests  have  strung  the  lyre  with  the  heart-strings,  poured 
out  their  best  blood  upon  the  altar,  which,  reared  anew 


W 


NINETEENTH   CENTURY.  17 

from  age  to  age,  shall  at  last  sustain  the  flame  pure 
enough  to  rise  to  highest  heaven.  Shall  we  not  name 
with  as  deep  a  benediction  those  who,  if  not  so  imme- 
diately, or  so  consciously,  in  connection  with  the  eternal 
truth,  yet,  led  and  fashioned  by  a  divine  instinct,  serve 
no  less  to  develop  and  interpret  the  open  secret  of  love 
passing  into  life,  energy  creating  for  the  purpose  of  hap- 
piness; the  artist  whose  hand,  drawn  by  a  preexistent 
harmony  to  a  certain  medium,  moulds  it  to  forms  of  life 
more  highly  and  completely  organized  than  are  seen  else- 
where, and,  by  carrying  out  the  intention  of  nature, 
reveals  her  meaning  to  those  who  are  not  yet  wise  enough 
to  divine  it;  the  philosopher  who  listens  steadily  for 
laws  and  causes,  and  from  those  obvious  infers  those  yet 
unknown;  the  historian  who,  in  faith  that  all  events 
must  have  their  reason  and  their  aim,  records  them,  and 
thus  fills  archives  from  which  the  youth  of  prophets  may 
be  fed;  the  man  of  science  dissecting  the  statements, 
testing  the  facts  and  demonstrating  order,  even  where  he 
cannot  its  purpose  ? 

Lives,  too,  which  bear  none  of  these  names,  have 
yielded  tones  of  no  less  significance.  The  candlestick 
set  in  a  low  place  has  given  light  as  faithfully,  where  it 
was  needed,  as  that  upon  the  hill.  In  close  alleys,  in 
dismal  nooks,  the  Word  has  been  read  as  distinctly,  as 
when  shown  by  angels  to  holy  men  in  the  dark  prison. 
Those  who  till  a  spot  of  earth  scarcely  larger  than  is 
wanted  for  a  grave,  have  deserved  that  the  sun  should 
shine  upon  its  sod  till  violets  answer. 

So  great  has  been,  from  time  to  time,  the  promise, 
2* 


18  WOMAN   IN   THE 

thatj  in  all  ages,  men  have  said  the  gods  themselves  came 
down  to  dwell  with  them ;  that  the  All- Creating  wan- 
dered on  the  earth  to  taste,  in  a  limited  nature,  the 
sweetness  of  virtue ;  that  the  All- Sustaining  incarnated 
himself  to  guard,  in  space  and  time,  the  destinies  of  this 
world ;  that  heavenly  genius  dwelt  among  the  shepherds, 
to  sing  to  them  and  teach  them  how  to  sing.     Indeed, 

*'  Der  stets  den  Hirten  gnadig  sich  bewies." 

''He  has  constantly  shown  himself  favorable  to  shep- 
herds." 

And  the  dwellers  in  green  pastures  and  natural  stu- 
dents of  the  stars  were  selected  to  hail,  first  among  men, 
the  holy  child,  whose  life  and  death  were  to  present  the 
type  of  excellence,  which  has  sustained  the  heart  of  so 
large  a  portion  of  mankind  in  these  later  generations. 

Such  marks  have  been  made  by  the  footsteps  of  man 
(still,  alas!  to  be  spoken  of  as  the  ideal  man),  wherever 
he  has  passed  through  the  wilderness  of  me^^,  and  when- 
ever the  pigmies  stepped  in  one  of  those,  they  felt  dilate 
within  the  breast  somewhat  that  promised  nobler  stature 
and  purer  blood.  They  were  impelled  to  forsake  their 
evil  ways  of  decrepit  scepticism  and  covetousness  of  cor- 
ruptible possessions.  Convictions  flowed  in  upon  them. 
They,  too,  raised  the  cry:  God  is  living,  now,  to-day; 
and  all  beings  are  brothers,  for  they  are  his  children. 
Simple  words  enough,  yet  which  only  angelic  natures  can 
use  or  hear  in  their  full,  free  sense. 

These  were  the  triumphant  moments ;  but  soon  the 
lower  nature  took  its  turn,  and  the  era  of  a  truly  human 
life  was  postponed. 


NINETEENTH   CENTURY.  19 

Thus  is  man  still  a  stranger  to  his  inheritance,  still  a 
pleader,  still  a  pilgrim.  Yet  his  happiness  is  secure  in 
the  end.  And  now,  no  more  a  glimmering  conscious- 
ness, but  assurance  begins  to  be  felt  and  spoken,  that  the 
highest  ideal  Man  can  form  of  his  own  powers  is  that 
which  he  is  destined  to  attain.  Whatever  the  soul  knows 
how  to  seek,  it  cannot  fail  to-  obtain.  This  is  the  Law 
and  the  Prophets.  Knock  and  it  shall  be  opened ;  seek 
and  ye  shall  find.  It  is  demonstrated ;  it  is  a  maxim. 
Man  no  longer  paints  his  proper  nature  in  some  form,  and 
says,  "  Prometheus  had  it ;  it  is  God-like  ;  "  but  "  Man 
must  have  it;  it  is  human."  However  disputed  by 
many,  however  ignorantly  used,  or  falsified  by  those  who 
do  receive  it,  the  fact  of  an  universal,  unceasing  revela- 
tion has  been  too  clearly  stated  in  words  to  be  lost  sight 
of  in  thought ;  and  sermons  preached  from  the  text, 
"Be  ye  perfect,"  are  the  only  sermons  of  a  pervasive 
and  deep-searching  influence. 

But,  among  those  who  meditate  upon  this  text,  there 
is  a  great  difference  of  view  as  to  the  way  in  which  per- 
fection shall  be  sought. 

"  Through  the  intellect,"  say  some.  "  Gather  from 
every  growth  of  life  its  seed  of  thought ;  look  behind 
every  symbol  for  its  law ;  if  thou  canst  see  clearly,  the 
rest  will  follow." 

"Through  the  life,"  say  others.  "  Do  the  best  thou 
knowest  to-day.  Shrink  not  from  frequent  error  in  this 
gradual,  fragmentary  state.  Follow  thy  light  for  as 
much  as  it  will  show  thee  ;  be  faithful  as  far  as  thou  canst, 
in  hope  that  fa ':h  presently  will  lead  to  sight.     Help 


20  WOMAN   IN   THE 

Others,  without  blaming  their  need  of  thj  help.  Love 
much,  and  be  forgiven." 

•'  It  needs  not  intellect,  needs  not  experience,"  says  a 
third.  "  If  you  took  the  true  way,  your  destiny  would 
be  accomplished  in  a  purer  and  more  natural  order.  You 
would  not  learn  through  facts  of  thought  or  action,  but 
express  through  them  the  certainties  of  wisdom.  In 
quietness  yield  thy  soul  to  the  causal  soul.  Do  not  dis- 
turb thy  apprenticeship  by  premature  effort;  neither 
check  the  tide  of  instruction  by  methods  of  thy  own.  Be 
still ;  seek  not,  but  wait  in  obedience.  Thy  commission 
will  be  given." 

Could  we  indeed  say  what  we  want,  could  we  give  a 
description  of  the  child  that  is  lost,  he  would  be  found. 
As  soon  as  the  soul  can  affirm  clearly  that  a  certain  dem- 
onstration is  wanted,  it  is  at  hand.  When  the  Jewish 
prophet  described  the  Lamb,  as  the  expression  of  what 
was  required  by  the  coming  era,  the  time  drew  nigh. 
But  we  say  not,  see  not  as  yet,  clearly,  what  we  would. 
Those  who  call  for  a  more  triumphant  expression  of  love, 
a  love  that  cannot  be  crucified,  show  not  a  perfect  sense 
of  what  has  already  been  given.  Love  has  already  been 
expressed,  that  made  all  things  new,  that  gave  the  worm 
its  place  and  ministry  as  well  as  the  eagle ;  a  love  to 
which  it  was  alike  to  descend  into  the  depths  of  hell,  or 
to  sit  at  the  right  hand  of  the  Father. 

Yet,  no  doubt,  a  new  manifestation  is  at  hand,  a  new 
hour  in  the  day  of  Man.  We  cannot  expect  to  see  any 
one  sample  of  completed  being,  when  the  mass  of  men 
still  lie  engaged  in  the  sod,  or  use  the  freedom  of  their 


NINETEENTH   CENTURY.  21 

limbs  only  with  wolfish  energy.   I  The  tree  cannot  come\ 
to  flower  till  its  root  be  free  from  the  cankering  worm,/ 
and  its  whole  growth  open  to  air  and  lighy     While  any/ 
one  is  base,  none  can  be  entirely  free  and  noble.     Yet 
something  new  shall  presently  be  shown  of  the  life  of 
man,  for  hearts  crave,  if  minds  do  not  know  how  to  ask  it. 

Among  the  strains  of  prophecy,  the  following,  by  an 
earnest  mind  of  a  foreign  land,  written  some  thirty  years 
ago,  is  not  yet  outgrown  ;  and  it  has  the  merit  of  being 
a  positive  appeal  from  the  heart,  instead  of  a  critical 
declaration  what  Man  should  not  do. 

"  The  ministry  of  Man  implies  that  he  must  be  filled 
from  the  divine  fountains  which  are  being  engendered 
through  all  eternity,  so  that,  at  the  mere  name  of  his 
master,  he  may  be  able  to  cast  all  his  enemies  into  the 
abyss  ;  that  he  may  dehver  all  parts  of  nature  from  the 
barriers  that  imprison  them  ;  that  he  may  purge  the  ter- 
restrial atmosphere  from  the  poisons  that  infect  it ;  that 
he  may  preserve  the  bodies  of  men  from  the  corrupt  influ- 
ences that  surround,  and  the  maladies  that  afflict  them ; 
still  more,  that  he  may  keep  their  souls  pure  from  the 
malignant  insinuations  which  pollute,  and  the  gloomy 
images  that  obscure  them ;  that  he  may  restore  its 
serenity  to  the  Word,  which  false  words  of  men  fill  with 
mourning  and  sadness ;  that  he  may  satisfy  the  desires 
of  the  angels,  who  await  from  him  the  development  of 
the  marvels  of  nature  ;  that,  in  fine,  his  world  may  be 
filled  with  God,  as  eternity  is."* 

Another  attempt  we  will  give,  by  an  obscure  observer 

*  St.  Martin. 


22  ^  WOMAN   IN   THE 

of  our  own  day  and  country,  to  draw  some  lines  of  the 
desired  image.  It  was  suggested  by  seeing  the  design  of 
Crawford's  Orpheus,  and  connecting  with  the  circum- 
stance of  the  American,  in  his  garret  at  Rome,  making 
choice  of  this  subject,  that  of  Americans  here  at  home 
showing  such  ambition  to  represent  the  character,  by  call- 
ing their  prose  and  verse  "Orphic  sayings"  —  "  Or- 
phics."  We  wish  we  could  add  that  they  have  shown 
that  musical  apprehension  of  the  progress  of  Nature 
through  her  ascending  gradations  which  entitled  them  so 
to  do,  but  their  attempts  are  frigid,  though  sometimes 
grand ;  in  their  strain  we  are  not  warmed  by  the  fire 
which  fertilized  the  soil  of  Greece. 

Orpheus  was  a  lawgiver  by  theocratic  commission. 
He  understood  nature,  and  made  her  forms  move  to  his 
music.  He  told  her  secrets  in  the  form  of  hymns,  Nature 
as  seen  in  the  mind  of  God.  His  soul  went  forth  to- 
ward all  beings,  yet  could  remain  sternly  faithful  to  a 
chosen  type  of  excellence.  Seeking  what  he  loved,  he 
feared  not  death  nor  hell ;  neither  could  any  shape  of 
dread  daunt  his  faith  in  the  power  of  the  celestial  har- 
mony that  filled  his  soul. 

It  seemed  significant  of  the  state  of  things  in  this 
country,  that  the  sculptor  should  have  represented  the 
seer  at  the  moment  when  he  was  obliged  with  his  hand  to 
shade  his  eyes. 

Each  Orpheus  must  to  the  depths  descend  ; 

For  only  thus  the  Poet  can  be  wise  ; 
Must  make  the  sad  Persephone  his  friend. 

And  buried  love  to  second  life  arise  ; 


NINETEENTH    CENTURY.  23 

Again  his  love  must  lose  through  too  much  love. 

Must  lose  his  life  by  living  life  too  true, 
For  what  he  sought  below  is  passed  above. 

Already  done  is  all  that  he  would  do  ; 
Must  tune  all  being  with  his  single  lyre, 

Must  melt  all  rocks  free  from  their  primal  pain. 
Must  search  all  nature  with  his  one  soul's  fire. 

Must  bind  anew  all  forms  in  heavenly  chain. 
If  he  already  sees  what  he  must  do, 
Well  may  he  shade  his  eyes  from  the  far-shining  view 

A  better  comment  could  not  be  made  on  what  is  re- 
quired to  perfect  Man,  and  place  him  in  that  superior 
position  for  which  he  was  designed,  than  bj  the  interpre- 
tation of  Bacon  upon  the  legends  of  the  Syren  coast. 
"When  the  wise  Ulysses  passed,"  says  he,  "  he  caused 
his  mariners  to  stop  their  ears  with  wax,  knowing  there 
was  in  them  no  power  to  resist  the  lure  of  that  voluptuous 
song.  But  he,  the  much  experienced  man,  who  wished 
to  be  experienced  in  all,  and  use  all  to  the  service  of 
wisdom,  desired  to  hear  the  song  that  he  might  under- 
stand its  meaning.  Yet,  distrusting  his  own  power  to  be 
firm  in  his  better  purpose,  he  caused  himself  to  be  bound 
to  the  mast,  that  he  might  be  kept  secure  against  his 
own  weakness.  But  Orpheus  passed  unfettered,  so  ab- 
sorbed in  singing  hymns  to  the  gods  that  he  cculd  not 
even  hear  those  sounds  of  degrading  enchantmert." 

Meanwhile,  not  a  few  believe,  and  men  themselves 
have  expressed  the  opinion,  that  the  time  is  come  when 
Eurydice  is  to  call  for  an  Orpheus,  rather  than  Orpheus 
for  Eurydice ;  that  the  idea  of  Man,  however  imperfectly 
brought  out,  has  been  far  more  so  than  that  of  Woman  ; 


24  WOMAN   IN   THE 

that  she,  the  other  half  of  the  same  thought,  the  other 
chamher  of  the  heart  of  life,  needs  now  take  her  turn 
in  the  full  pulsation,  and  that  improvement  in  the  daugh- 
ters will  best  aid  in  the  reformation  of  the  sons  of  this 
age. 

It  should  be  remarked  that,|ai  the  principle  of  liberty 
is  better  understood,  and  more  nobly  interpreted,  a 
broader  protest  is  made  in  behalf  of  Woman.  As  men 
become  aware  that  few  men  have  had  a  fair  chance,  they 
are  inclined  to  say  that  no  women  have  had  a  fair  chanc^ 

f  The  French  Revolution,  that  strangely  disguised  angel, 
bore  witness   in  favor  of  Woman,    but   interpreted   her 

(^claims  no  less  ignorantly  than  those  of  Man.  Its  idea  of 
happiness  did  not  rise  beyond  outward  enjoyment,  unob- 
structed by  the  tyranny  of  others.  The  title  it  gave  was 
^'citoyen,"  "citoyenne;  "  and  it  is  not  unimportant  to 
Woman  that  even  this  species  of  equality  was  awarded  her. 

j^Before,  she  could  be  condemned  to  perish  on  the  scaffold 
for  treason,  not^as  a  citizen,  but  as  a  subjects i  The  right 
with  which  this  title  then  invested  a  human  being  was 
that  of  bloodshed  and  license.  The  Goddess  of  Liberty 
was  impure.  As  we  read  the  poem  addressed  to  her,  not 
long  since,  by  Beranger,  we  can  scarcely  refrain  from 
tears  as  painful  as  the  tears  of  blood  that  flowed  when 
"  such  crimes  were  committed  in  her  name."  Yes ! 
Man,  born  to  purify  and  animate  the  unintelligent  and 
the  cold,  can,  in  his  madness,  degrade  and  pollute  no 
less  the  fair  and  the  chaste.  Yet  truth  was  prophesied 
in  the  ravings  of  that  hideous  fever,  caused  by  long  igno- 
rance and  abuse.     Europe  is  conning  a  valued  lesson 


NINETEENTH   CENTUET.  25 

from  the  blood-stained  page.  The  same  tendencies,  fur- 
ther unfolded,  will  bear  good  fruit  in  this  country. 

Yet,  by  men  in  this  country,  as  by  the  Jews,  when 
Moses  was  leading  them  to  the  promised  land,  every- 
thing has  been  done  that  inherited  depravity  could  do, 
to  hinder  the  promise  of  Heaven  from  its  fulfilment.  The 
crosg,  heie  as  elsewhere,  has  been  planted  only  to  be  blas- 
Dhemed  by  cruelty  and  fraud.  The  name  of  the  Prince 
Df  Peace  has  been  profaned  by  all  kinds  of  injustice  to- 
ward the  Gentile  whom  he  said  he  came  to  save.  But  I 
need  not  speak  of  what  has  been  done  towards  the  Red 
Man,  the  Black  Man.  Those  deeds  are  the  scoff  of  the 
world ;  and  they  have  been  accompanied  by  such  pious 
words  that  the  gentlest  would  not  dare  to  intercede  with 
''  Father,  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what  they 
do." 

Here,  as  elsewhere,  the  gain  of  creation  consists  al- 
ways in  the  growth  of  individual  minds,  which  live  and 
aspire,  as  flowers  bloom  and  birds  sing,  in  the  midst  of 
morasses;  and  in  the  continual  development  of  that 
thought,  the  thought  of  human  destiny,  which  is  given 
to  eternity  adequately  to  express,  and  which  ages  of 
failure  only  seemingly  impede.  Only  seemingly ;  and 
whatever  seems  to  the  contrary,  this  country  is  as  surely 
destined  to  elucidate  a  great  moral  law,  as  Europe  was 
to  promote  the  mental  culture  of  Man. 

Though  the  national  independence  be  blurred  by  the 

servility  of  individuals  ;  though  freedom   and   equality 

have  been  proclaimed  only  to  leave  room  for  a  monstrous 

display  of  slave-dealing  and  slave-keeping ;  though  the 

3 


26  WOMAN   IN   THE 

free  American  so  often  feels  himself  free,  like  tfje  Ro- 
man, onlj  to  pamper  his  appetites  and  his  indoknct; 
through  the  misery  of  his  fellow-beings  ;  still  it  is  not  in 
vain  that  the  verbal  statement  has  been  made,  ''  All  men 
are  born  free  and  equal."  There  it  stands,  a  golden  cer- 
tainty wherewith  to  encourage  the  good,  to  shame  the 
bad.  The  New  World  may  be  called  clearly  to  perceive 
that  it  incurs  the  utmost  penalty  if  it  reject  or  oppress 
the  sorrowful  brother.  And,  if  men  are  deaf,  the  angels 
hear.  But  men  cannot  be  deaf  It  is  inevitable  that  an 
external  freedom,  an  independence  of  the  encroachments 
of  other  men,  such  as  has  been  achieved  for  the  nation, 
should  be  so  also  for  every  member  of  it.  That  which 
has  once  been  clearly  conceived  in  the  intelligence  can- 
not fail,  sooner  or  later,  to  be  acted  out.  It  has  become 
a  law  as  irrevocable  as  that  of  the  Medes  in  their  ancient 
dominion  ;  men  will  privately  sin  against  it,  but  the  law, 
as  expressed  by  a  leading  mind  of  the  age, 

**  Tutti  fatti  a  sembianza  d'un  Solo, 
Figli  tutti  d'un  solo  riscatto, 
In  qual'ora,  in  qual  parte  del  suolo 
Trascorriamo  quest'  aura  vital, 
Siam  fratelli,  siam  stretti  ad  un  patto : 
Maladetto  colui  che  lo  infrange, 
Che  s'innalza  sul  fiacco  che  piange 
Che  contrista  uno  spirto  immortal."  * 

•*  All  made  in  the  likeness  of  the  One, 
All  children  of  one  ransom. 
In  whatever  hour,  in  whatever  part  of  the  soil, 
We  draw  this  vital  air, 

*  Manzoni. 


NINETEENTH   CENTURY.  27 

We  are  brothers  ;  we  must  be  bound  by  one  compact ; 

Accursed  he  who  infringes  it, 
Who  raises  himself  upon  the  weak  who  weep, 

Who  saddens  an  immortal  spirit." 

This  law  cannot  fail  of  universal  recognition.  Ac- 
cursed be  he  who  willingly  saddens  an  immortal  spirit — 
doomed  to  infamy  in  later,  wiser  ages,  doomed  in  future 
stages  of  his  own  being  to  deadly  penance,  only  short  of 
death.  Accursed  be  he  who  sins  in  ignorance,  if  that 
ignorance  be  caused  by  sloth. 

We  sicken  no  less  at  the  pomp  than  the  strife  of 
words.  We  feel  that  never  were  lungs  so  puffed  with 
the  wind  of  declamation,  on  moral  and  religious  sub- 
jects, as  now.  We  are  tempted  to  implore  these 
"word-heroes,"  these  word-Catos,  word-Christs,  to  be- 
ware of  cant*  above  all  things ;  to  remember  that  hypoc- 
risy is  the  most  hopeless  as  well  as  the  meanest  of 
crimes,  and  that  those  must  surely  be  polluted  by  it,  who 
dp  not  reserve  a  part  of  their  morality  and  religion  for 
private  use.  Landor  says  that  he  cannot  have  a  great 
deal  of  mind  who  cannot  afford  to  let  the  larger  part  of 
it  lie  fallow ;  and  what  is  true  of  genius  is  not  less  so  of 
virtue.  The  tongue  is  a  valuable  member,  but  should 
appropriate  but  a  small  part  of  the  vital  juices  that  are 
needful  all  over  the  body.     We  feel  that  the  mind  may 

*  Dr.  Johnson's  one  piece  of  advice  should  be  written  on  every 
door  :  '*  Clear  your  mind  of  cant."     But  Byron,  to  whom  it  was  so 
acceptable,  in  clearing  away  the  noxious  vine,  shook  down  the  build 
ing.     Sterling's  emendation  is  worthy  of  honor  : 
"  Realize  your  cant,  not  cast  it  oflf." 


28  WOMAN  IN  THE 

"  grow  black  and  rancid  in  the  smoke  "  even  "  of  altars. '* 
We  start  up  from  the  harangue  to  go  into  our  closet  and 
shut  the  door.  There  inquires  the  spirit,  "  Is  this  rhet- 
oric the  bloom  of  healthy  blood,  or  a  false  pigment  art- 
fully laid  on?  "  And  jet  again  we  know  where  is  so 
much  smoke,  must  be  some  fire ;  with  so  much  talk  about 
virtue  and  freedom,  must  be  mingled  some  desire  for 
them ;  that  it  cannot  be  in  vain  that  such  have  become 
the  common  topics  of  conversation  among  men,  rather  than 
schemes  for  tyranny  and  plunder,  that  the  very  news- 
papers see  it  best  to  proclaim  themselves  "  Pilgrims," 
"Puritans,"  "Heralds  of  Holiness."  The  king  that 
maintains  so  costly  a  retinue  cannot  be  a  mere  boast,  or 
Carabbas  fiction.  We  have  waited  here  long  in  the  dust  ; 
we  are  tired  and  hungry ;  but  the  triumphal  procession 
must  appear  at  last. 

Of  all  its  banners,  none  has  been  more  steadily  up- 
held, and  under  none  have  more  valor  and  willingness  for 
real  sacrifices  been  shown,  than  that  of  the  champions 
of  the  enslaved  African.  And  this  band  it  is,  which, 
partly  from  a  natural  following  out  of  principles,  partly 
because  many  women  have  been  prominent  in  that  cause, 
makes,  just  now,  the  warmest  appeal  in  behalf  of  Woman. 

Though  there  has  been  a  growing  liberality  on  this 
subject,  yet  society  at  large  is  not  so  prepared  for  the 
demands  of  this  party,  but  that  its  members  are,  and  will 
be  for  some  time,  coldly  regarded  as  the  Jacobins  of  their 
day. 

'^^^9  it  not  enough,"  cries  the  irritated  trader,  "  that 
you  have  done  all  you  could  to  break  up  the  national 


NINETEENTH   CENTURY.  29 

union,  and  thus  destroy  the  prosperity  of  our  country, 
but  now  you  must  be  trying  to  break  up  family  union, 
to  tak:)  my  wife  away  from  the  cradle  and  the  kitchen- 
hearth  to  vote  at  polls,  and  preach  from  a  pulpit  ?  Of 
course,  if  she  does  such  things,  she  cannot  attend  to 
those  of  her  own  sphere.  She  is  happy  enough  as  she 
is.  She  has  more  leisure  than  I  have, —  every  means 
of  improvement,  every  indulgence.  ^',> 

"  Have  you  asked  her  whether  she  was  satisfied  with 
these  indulgences  ?  " 

•'  No,  but  I  know  she  is.  She  is  too  amiable  to  desire 
what  would  make  me  unhappy,  and  too  judicious  to  wish 
to  step  beyond  the  sphere  of  her  sex,  I  will  never  consent 
to  have  our  peace  disturbed  by  any  such  discussions." 

"  '  Consent  —  you?'  it  is  not  consent  from  you  that  is 
in  question  —  it  is  assent  from  your  wife." 

"  Am  not  I  the  head  of  my  house  ?  " 

"  You  are  not  the  head  of  your  wife.  God  has  given 
kjr  a  mind  of  her  own." 

"  I  am  the  head,  and  she  the  heart." 

"  God  grant  you  play  true  to  one  another,  then  !  I 
suppose  I  am  to  be  grateful  that  you  did  not  say  she  was 
only  the  hand.  If  the  head  represses  no  natural  pulse 
of  the  heart,  there  can  be  no  question  as  to  your  giving 
your  consent.  Both  will  be  of  one  accord,  and  there 
needs  but  to  present  any  question  to  get  a  full  and  true 
answer.  There  is  no  need  of  precaution,  of  indulgence, 
nor  consent.  But  our  doubt  is  whether  the  heart  does 
consent  with  the  head,  or  only  obeys  its  decrees  with  a 
passiveness  that  precludes  the  exercise  of  its  natural 
3* 


30  WOMAN   IN   THE 

powers,  or  a  repugnance  that  turns  sweet  qualities  to 
bitter,  or  a  doubt  that  lays  waste  the  fair  occasions  of 
I  life.  It  is  to  ascertain  the  truth  that  we  propose  some 
( liberiting  measures." 

Thus  vaguely  are  these  questions  proposed  and  dis- 
cussed at  present.  But  their  being  proposed  at  all  im- 
plies much  thought,  and  suggests  more.  Many  women 
are  considering  within  themselves  what  they  need  that 
they  have  not,  and  what  they  can  have  if  they  find  they 
s  need  it.  Many  men  are  considering  whether  women  are 
'  capable  of  being  and  having  more  than  they  are  and 
have,  and  whether,  if  so,  it  will  be  best  to  consent  to 
\   improvement  in  their  condition. 

This  morning,  I  open  the  Boston  ''  Daily  Mail,"  and 
find  in  its  "  poet's  corner  "  a  translation  of  Schiller's 
"  Dignity  of  Woman."  In  the  advertisement  of  a  book 
on  America,  I  see  in  the  table  of  contents  this  sequence, 
''  Republican  Institutions.  American  Slavery.  Amer- 
ican Ladies." 

I  open  the  "  Deutsche  Schnellpsst^''^  published  in 
New  York,  and  find  at  the  head  of  a  column,  Judenund 
Frauen-emaiicipation  in  TJngarn  —  "  Emancipation 
of  Jews  and  Women  in  Hungary." 

The  past  year  has  seen  action  in  the  Rhode  Island 
legislature,  to  secure  married  women  rights  over  their 
own  property,  where  men  showed  that  a  very  little  ex- 
amination of  the  subject  could  teach  them  much ;  an 
article  in  the  Democratic  Review  on  the  same  subject 
more  largely  considered,  written  by  a  woman,  impelled, 
it  is  said,  by  glaring  wrong  to  a  distinguished  friend,  hav- 


NINETEENTH    CENTURY.  31 

ing  shown  the  defects  in  the  existing  laws,  and  the  state 
of  opinion  from  which  thej  spring ;  and  an  answer  from 
the  revered  old  man,  J.  Q.  Adams,  in  some  respects  the 
Phocion  of  his  time,  to  an  address  made  him  by  some 
ladies.    To  this  last  I  shall  again  advert  in  another  place. 

These  symptoms  of  the  times  have  come  under  my 
view  quite  accidentally :  one  who  seeks,  may,  each 
month  or  week,  collect  more. 

The  numerous  party,  whose  opinions  are  already 
labeled  and  adjusted  too  much  to  their  mind  to  admit 
of  any  new  light,  strive,  by  lectures  on  some  model- 
woman  of  bride-like  beauty  and  gentleness,  by  writing 
and  lending  little  treatises,  intended  to  mark  out  with 
precision  the  limits  of  Woman's  sphere,  and  Woman's 
mission,  to  prevent  other  than  the  rightful  shepherd  from 
climbing  the  wall,  or  the  flock  from  using  any  chance  to 
go  astray. 

Without  enrolling  ourselves  at  once  on  either  side,  let 
us  look  upon  the  subject  from  the  best  point  of  view 
which  to-day  offers ;  no  better,  it  is  to  be  feared,  than 
a  high  house-top.  A  high  hill-top,  or  at  least  a  cathedral- 
spire,  would  be  desirable. 

It  niay  well  be  an  Anti- Slavery  party  that  pleads  for 
Woman,  if  we  consider  merely  that  she  does  not  hold 
property  on  equal  terms  with  men ;  so  that,  if  a  husband 
dies  without  making  a  will,  the  wife,  instead  of  taking 
at  once  his  place  as  head  of  the  family,  inherits  enly  a 
part  of  his  fortune,  often  brought  him  by  herself,' as  if 
she  were  a  child,  or  ward  only,^  not  an  equal  partner^ 

We  will  not  speak  of  the  innumerable   instances   in 


82  WOMAN   IN   THE 

which  profligate  and  idle  men  live  upon  the  earnings  of 
industrious  wives ;  or  if  the  wives  leave  them,  and  take 
with  them  the  children,  to  perform  the  double  duty  of 
mother  and  father,  follow  from  place  to  place,  and  threaten 
to  rob  them  of  the  children,  if  deprived  of  the  rights  of 
a  husband,  as  they  call  them,  planting  themselves  in 
their  poor  lodgings,  frightening  them  into  paying  tribute 
by  taking  from  them  the  children,  running  into  debt  at 
the  expense  of  these  otherwise  so  overtasked  helots. 
Such  instances  count  up  by  scores  within  my  own 
memory.  I  have  seen  the  husband  who  had  stained  him- 
self by  a  long  course  of  low  vice,  till  his  wife  was  wea- 
ried from  her  heroic  forgiveness,  by  finding  that  his 
treachery  made  it  useless,  and  that  if  she  would  provide 
bread  for  herself  and  her  children,  she  must  be  separate 
from  his  ill  fame  —  I  have  known  this  man  come  to  in- 
stall himself  in  the  chamber  of  a  woman  who  loathed 
him,  and  say  she  should  never  take  food  without  his  com- 
pany. I  have  known  these  men  steal  their  children, 
whom  they  knew  they  had  no  means  to  maintain,  take 
them  into  dissolute  company,  expose  them  to  bodily 
danger,  to  frighten  the  poor  woman,  to  whom,  it  seems, 
the  fact  that  she  alone  had  borne  the  pangs  of  their 
birth,  and  nourished  their  infancy,  does  not  give  an  equal 
right  to  them.  I  do  believe  that  this  mode  of  kidnap- 
ping —  and  it  is  frequent  enough  in  all  classes  of  society 
—  will  be  by  the  next  age  viewed  as  it  is  by  Heaven  now, 
and  that  the  man  who  avails  himself  of  the  shelter  of 
men's  laws  to  steal  from  a  mother  her  own  children,  or 
arrogate  any  superior  right  in  them,  save  that  of  superior 


NINETEENTH   CENTURY.  66 

virtue,  will  bear  the  stigma  he  deserves,  in  common  with 
him  who  steals  grown  men  from  their  mother-land,  their 
hopes,  and  their  homes. 

I  said,  we  will  not  speak  of  this  now ;  yet  1  have  spo- 
ken, for  the  subject  makes  me  feel  too  much.  I  could 
mve  instances  that  would  startle  the  most  vulo;ar  and 
callous  ;  but  I  will  not,  for  the  public  opinion  of  their 
own  sex  is  already  against  such  men,  and  where  cases  of 
extreme^  tyranny  are  made  known,  there  is  private  actictfi 
in  the  wife's  favor.  But  she  ought  not  to  need  this,  nor, 
I  think,  can  she  long.  Men  must  soon  see  that  as,  on 
their  own  ground,  Woman  is  the  weaker  party,  she  ought 
to  have  legal  protection,  which  would  make  such  oppres- 
sion impossible.  But  I  would  not  deal  with  "atrocious 
instances,"  except  in  the  way  of  illustration,  neither 
demand  from  men  a  partial  redress  in  some  one  matter, 
but  go  to  the  root  of  the  whole.  If  principles  could  be 
established,  particulars  would  adjust  themselves  aright. 
Ascertain  the  true  destiny  of  Woman ;  give  her  legiti- 
mate hopes,  and  a  standard  within  herself;  marriage  and 
all  other  relations  would  by  degrees  be  harmonized  with 
these. 

But  to  return  to  the  historical  progress  of  this  matter. 
Knowing  that  there  exists  in  the  minds  of  men  a  tone 
of  feeling  toward  women  as  toward  slaves,  such  as  is 
expressed  in~tEe  common  phrase,  "  Tell  that  to  women 
and  children ;  "  that  the  uifinite  soul  can  only  work 
through  them  in  already  ascertained Jimite;_tta  ^ft 
of  reason,  Man's  highest  prerogativeijs  allotted  to  thfiip 
in  much  lower  degree  ;  that  they  n^ust  be  kept  from  mis- 


34  WOMAN  IN  THE 

chief  and  melancholy  bj  being  constantly  engaged  iii 
active  labor,  which  is  to  be  furnished  and  directed  by 
those  better  able  to  think,  &c.,  &c., —  we  need  not  multi- 
ply instances,  for  who  can  review  the  experience  of  last 
week  without  recalling  words  which  imply,  whether  in 
jest  or  earnest,  these  views,  or  views  like  these, —  know- 
ing this,  can  we  wonder  that  many  reformers  think  that 
measures  are  not  likely  to  be  taken  in  behalf  of  women, 
unless  their  wishes  could  be  publicly  represented  by 
>vomen  ? 

''That  can  never  be  necessary,"  cry  the  other  side. 
"  All  men  are  privately  influenced  by  women ;  each  has 
his  wife,  sister,  or  female  friends,  and  is  too  much  biased 
by  these  relations  to  fail  of  representing  their  interests  ; 
and,  if  this  is  not  enough,  let  them  propose  and  enforce 
their  wishes  with  the  pen.  j^The  beauty  of  home  would 
be  destroyed,  the  delicacy  of  the  sex  be  violated,  the 
dignity  of  halls  of  legislation  degraded,  by  an  attempt  to 
introduce  them  there. '  ,  Such  duties  are  inconsistent  with 
those  of  a  mother ;  "  and  then  we  have  ludicrous  pictures 
of  ladies  in  hysterics  at  the  polls,  and  senate-chambers 
filled  with  cradles. 

But  if,  in  reply,  we  admit  as  truth  that  Woman  seems 
destined  by  nature  rather  for  the  inner  circle,  we  must 
add  that  the  arrangements  of  civilized  life  have  not  been, 
as  yet,  such  as  to  secure  it  to  her.  Her  circle,  if  the 
duller,  is  not  the  quieter.  If  kept  from  ''excitement," 
she  is  not  from  drudgery.  Not  only  the  Indian  squaw 
carries  the  burdens  of  the  camp,  but  the  favorites  of 
Louis  XIV.  accompany  him  in  his  journeys,  and  the 


NINETEENTH    CENTURY.  35 

washerwoman  stands  at  her  tub,  and  carries  home  her 
work  at  all  seasons,  and  in  all  states  of  health.  Those 
who  think  the  physical  circumstances  of  Woman  would 
make  a  part  in  the  affairs  of  national  government  unsuit- 
able, are  hj  no  means  those  who  think  it  impossible  for 
negresses  to  endure  field-work,  even  during  pregnancy,  j 
or  for  sempstresses  to  go  through  their  killing  labors. 
X^As  to  the  use  of  the  pen,  there  was  quite  as  much 
opposition  to  Woman's  possessing  herself  of  that  help  to 
free  agency  as  there  is  now  to  her  seizing  on  the  rostrum 
or  the  desk ;  and  she  is  likely  to  draw,  from  a  permission 
to  plead  her  cause  that  way,  opposite  inferences  to  what 
might  be  wished  by  those  who  now  grant  it. 

As  to  the  possibility  of  her  filling  with  grace  and 
dignity  any  such  position,  we  should  think  those  who  had 
seen  the  great  actresses,  and  heard  the  Quaker  preachers 
of  modern  times,  would  not  doubt  that  Woman  can 
express  publicly  the  fulness  of  thought  and  creation, 
without  losing  any  of  the  peculiar  beauty  of  her  sex. 
What  can  pollute  and  tarnish  is  to  act  thus  from  any 
motive  except  that  something  needs  to  be  said  or  done. 
Woman  could  take  part  in  the  processions,  the  songs,  the 
dances  of  old  religion ;  no  one  fancied  her  delicacy  was 
impaired  by  appearing  in  public  for  such  a  cause. 

As  to  her  home,  she  is  not  likely  to  leave  it  more  than 
she  now  does  for  balls,  theatres,  meetings  for  promoting 
missions,  revival  meetings,  and  others  to  which  she  flies, 
in  hope  of  an  animation  for  her  existence  commensurate 
with  what  she  sees  enjoyed  by  men.  Governors  of 
ladies' -fairs  are  no  less  engrossed  by  such  a  charge,  than 


36  WOMAN   IN   THE 

the  governor  of  a  state  by  his ;  presidents  of  Washing- 
tonian  societies  no  less  away  from  home  than  presidents 
of  conventions.  If  men  look  straitly  to  it,  they  will 
find  that,  unless  their  lives  are  domestic,  those  ot  the 
women  will  not  be.  A  house  is  no  home  unless  it  con- 
tain food  and  fire  for  the  mind  as  well  as  for  the  body. 
The  female  Greek,  of  our  day,  is  as  much  in  the  street 
as  the  male  to  cry,  ''What  news?"  We  doubt  not  it 
was  the  same  in  Athens  of  old.  The  women,  shut  out 
from  the  market-place,  made  up  for  it  at  the  religious 
festivals.  \For  human  beings  are  not  so  constituted  that 
they  can  live  without  expansion.  If  they  do  not  get  it 
in  one  way,  they  must  in  another,  or  perish.  \jf 

As  to  men's  representing  women  fairl/^at  present, 
while  we  hear  from  men  who  owe  to  their  wives  not  only 
all  that  is  comfortable  or  graceful,  but  all  that  is  wise, 
in  the  arrangement  of  their  lives,  the  frequent  remark, 
"You  cannot  reason  with  a  woman," — when  from  those 
of  delicacy,  nobleness,  and  poetic  culture,  falls  the  con- 
temptuous phrase  "  women  and  children,"  and  that  in  no 
light  sally  of  the  hour,  but  in  works  intended  to  give  a 
permanent  statement  of  the  best  experiences, —  when  not 
one  man,  in  the  million,  shall  I  say  ?  no,  not  in  the  hun- 
dred million,  can  rise  above  the  belief  that  Woman  was 
made  for  Man. —  when  such  traits  as  these  are  daily 
forced  upon  the  attention,  can  we  feel  that  Man  will 
always  do  justice  to  the  interests  of  Woman  ?  Can  we 
think  that  he  takes  a  sufficiently  discerning  and  religious 
view  of  her  office  and  destiny  ever  to  do  her  justice, 
except  when  prompted   by  sentiment, —  accidentally  or 


NINETEENTH   CENTURY.  87 

transiently,  that  is,  for  the  sentiment  will  vary  according 
to  the  relations  in  which  he  is  placed?  The  lover,  the 
poet,  the  artist,  are  likely  to  view  her  nobly.  The  father 
and  the  philosopher  have  some  chance  of  liberahty ;  the 
mar  of  the  world,  the  legislator  for  expediency,  none. 

Under  these  circumstances,  without  attaching  impor- 
tance, in  themselves,  to  the  changes  demanded  by  the 
champions  of  Woman,  we  hail  them  as  signs  of  the 
times.  We  would  have  every  arbitrary  barrier  thrown 
down.  We  would  have  every  path  laid  open  to  Woman 
as  freely  as  to  Man.  Were  this  done,  and  a  slight  tem- 
porary fermentation  allowed  to  subside,  we  should  see 
crystallizations  more  pure  and  of  more  various  beauty. 
We  believe  the  divine  energy  would  pervade  nature  to  a 
degree  unknown  in  the  history  of  former  ages,  and  that 
no  discordant  collision,  but  a  ravishing  harmony  of  the 
spheres,  would  ensue. 

Yet,  then  and  only  then  will  mankind  be  ripe  for  this, 
when  inward  and  outward  freedom  for  Woman  as  much 
as  for  Man  shall  be  acknowledged  as  a  right^  not  yielded 
as  a  concession.     As  the  friend  of  the  negro  assumes 
that  one  man  cannot  by  right  hold  another  in  bondage, 
so  should^. the  fi'iend  of  Woman  assume  that  Man  cannot \ 
by  right   lay  even  well-meant   restrictions  on  Woman.  / 
If  the  negi'O  be  a  soul,  if  the  woman  be  a  soul,  apparelled  \ 
in  flesh,  to  one  Master  only  are  they  accountable.    There  / 
is  but  one  law  for  souls,  and,  if  there  is  to  be  an  inter- 
preter of  it,  he  must  come  not  as  man,  or  son  of  man, 
but  as  son  of  God. 

Were  thought  and  feeling  once  so  far  elevated  that 
4 


88     WOMAN  IN  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY. 

Man  should  esteem  himself  the  brother  and  friend,  but 
nowise  the  lord  and  tutor,  of  Woman, —  were  he  really 
bound  with  her  in  equal  worship, —  arrangements  as  to 
function  and  employment  would  be  of  no  consequence. 
'  What  Woman  needs  is  not  as  a  woman  to  act  or  rule, 
but  as  a  nature  to  grow,  as  an  intellect  to  discern,  as  a 
soul  to  live  freely  and  unimpeded,  to  unfold  such  powers 
as  were  given  her  when  we  left  our  common  home.  If 
^ewer  talents  were  given  her,  yet  if  allowed  the  free  and 
full  employment  of  these,  so  that  she  may  render  back  to 
the  giver  his  own  with  usury,  she  will  not  complain ; 
nay,  I  dare  to  say  she  will  bless  and  rejoice  in  her 
earthly  birth-place,  her  earthly  lot.  Let  us  consider 
what  obstructions  impede  this  good  era,  and  what  signs 
give  reason  to  liope  that  it  draws  near. 

I  was  talking  on  this  subject  with  Miranda,  a  woman, 
who,  if  any  in  the  world  could,  might  speak  without  heat 
and  bitterness  of  the  position  of  her  sex.  Her  father 
was  a  man  who  cherished  no  sentimental  reverence  for 
Woman,  but  a  j&rm  belief  in  the  equality  of  the  sexes. 
She  was  his  eldest  child,  and  came  to  him  at  an  age  when 
he  needed  a  companion.  From  the  time  she  could  speak 
and  go  alone,  he  addressed  her  not  as  a  plaything,  but  as 
a  living  mind.  Among  the  few  verses  he  ever  wrote  was 
a  copy  addressed  to  this  child,  when  the  first  locks  were 
cut  from  her  head ;  and  the  reverence  expressed  on  this 
occasion  for  that  cherished  head,  he  never  belied.  It  was 
to  him  the  temple  of  immortal  intellect.  He  respected 
his  child,  however,  too  much  to  be  an  indulgent  parent. 
He  called  on  her  for  clear  judgment,  for  courage,  for 


MIRANDA.  89 

honor  and  fidelity ;  in  short,  for  such  virtues  as  he  knew. 
In  so  far  as  he  possessed  the  keys  to  the  -wonders  of  this 
universe,  he  allowed  free  use  of  them  to  her,  and,  by  the 
incentive  of  a  high  expectation,  he  forbade,  so  far  as 
possible,  that  she  should  let  the  privilege  lie  idle. 

Thus  this  child  was  early  led  to  feel  herself  a  child  of 
the  spirit.  She  took  her  place  easily,  not  only  in  the 
world  of  organized  being,  but  in  the  world  of  mind.  A 
dignified  sense  of  self-dependence  was  given  as  all  her 
portion,  and  she  found  it  a  sure  anchor.  Herself  securely 
anchored,  her  relations  with  others  were  established  with 
equal  security.  She  was  fortunate  in  a  total  absence  of 
those  charms  which  might  have  drawn  to  her  bewildering 
flatteries,  and  in  a  strong  electric  nature,  which  repelled 
those  who  did  not  belong  to  her,  and  attracted  those  who 
did.  With  men  and  women  her  relations  were  noble, — 
affectionate  without  passion,  intellectual  without  coldness. 
The  world  was  free  to  her,  and  she  lived  freely  in  it. 
Outward  adversity  came,  and  inward  conflict ;  but  that 
faith  and  self-respect  had  early  been  awakened  which 
must  always  lead,  at  last,  to  an  outward  serenity  and  an 
inward  peace. 

Of  Miranda  I  had  always  thought  as  an  example,  that 
the  restraints  upon  the  sex  were  insuperable  only  to 
those  who  think  them  so,  or  who  noisily  strive  to  break 
them.  She  had  taken  a  course  of  her  own,  and  no  man 
stood  in  her  way.  Many  of  her  acts  had  been  unusual, 
but  excited  no  uproar.  Few  helped,  but  none  checked 
her ;  and  the  many  men  who  knew  her  mind  and  her 
life,  showed  to  her  confidence  as  to  a  brother,  gentleness 


iO  WOMAN  IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

as  to  a  sister.  And  not  only  refined,  but  very  coarse  men 
approved  and  aided  one  in  whom  they  saw  resolution  and 
clearness  of  design.  Her  mind  was  often  the  leading 
one,  always  effective. 

When  I  talked  with  her  upon  these  matters,  and  had 
said  very  much  what  I  have  written,  she  smilingly 
replied:  ''And  yet  wc  must  admit  that  I  have  been 
fortunate,  and  this  should  not  be.  My  good  father's 
early  trust  gave  the  first  bias,  and  the  rest  followed,  of 
course.  It  is  true  that  I  have  had  less  outward  aid,  in 
after  years,  than  most  women;  but  that  is  of  little  conse- 
quence. Religion  was  early  awakened  in  my  soul, — 
a  sense  that  what  the  soul  is  capable  to  ask  it  must 
attain,  and  that,  though  I  might  be  aided  and  instructed 
by  others,  I  must  depend  on  myself  as  the  only  constant 
friend.  This  self-dependence,  which  was  honored  in  me, 
is  deprecated  as  a  fault  in  most  women.  They  are 
taught  to  learn  their  rule  from  without,  not  to  unfold  it 
from  within. 

''  This  is  the  fault  of  Man,  who  is  still  vain,  and 
wishes  to  be  more  important  to  Woman  than,  by  right, 
he  should  be." 

''  Men  have  not  shown  this  disposition  toward  you,"  I 
said. 

"No;  because  the  position  I  early  was  enabled  to 
take  was  one  of  self-reliance.  And  were  all  women  as 
sure  of  their  wants  as  I  was,  the  result  would  be  the 
same.  But  they  are  so  overloaded  with  precepts  by 
guardians,  who  think  that  nothing  is  so  much  to  be 
dreaded  for  a  woman  as  originality  of  thought  or  char- 


MIRANDA.  41 

acter,  that  their  minds  are  impeded  by  doubts  till  they 
lose  their  chance  of  fair,  free  proportions.  The  diflficulty 
is  to  get  them  to  the  point  from  which  they  shall  natu- 
rally develop  self-respect,  and  learn  self-help. 

"  Once  I  thought  that  men  would  help  to  forward  this 
state  of  things  more  than  I  do  now.  1  saw  so  many  of 
them  wretched  in  the  connections  they  had  formed  in 
weakness  and  vanity.  They  seemed  so  glad  to  esteem 
women  whenever  they  could. 

"'The  soft  arms  of  affection,'  said  one  of  the  most 
discerning  spirits,  '  will  not  suflfice  for  me,  unless  on 
them  I  see  the  steel  bracelets  of  strength.' 

"  But  early  I  perceived  that  men  never,  in  any  ex- 
trerafi-  of  despair,  wished  to  be  women.  On  the  contrary, 
they  were  ever  ready  to  taunt  one  another,  at  any  sign 
of  weakness,  with, 

*'  *  Art  thou  not  like  the  women,  who,'  — 

The  passage  ends  various  ways,  according  to  the  occa- 
sion and  rhetoric  of  the  speaker.  When  they  admired 
any  woman,  they  were  inclined  to  speak  of  her  as  '  above 
her  sex.'  Silently  I  observed  this,  and  feared  it  argued 
a  rooted  scepticism,  which  for  ages  had  been  fastening  on 
the  heart,  and  which  only  an  age  of  miracles  could  eradi- 
cate. Ever  I  have  been  treated  with  great  sincerity; 
and  I  look  upon  it  as  a  signal  instance  of  this,  that  an 
intimate  friend  of  the  other  sex  said,  in  a  fervent  mo- 
ment, that  I  '  deserved  in  some  star  to  be  a  man.'  He 
was  much  surprised  when  I  disclosed  my  view  of  my 
position  and  hopes,  when  I  declared  my  faith  that  the 
4* 


42  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH    CENTURY. 

feminine  side,  the  side  of  love,  of  beauty,  of  holiness, 
was  now  to  have  its  full  chance,  and  that,  if  either  were 
better,  it  was  better  now  to  be  a  woman ;  for  even  the 
slightest  achievement  of  good  was  furthering  an  especial 
work  of  our  time.  He  smiled  incredulously.  '  She 
makes  the  best  she  can  of  it,'  thought  he.  '  Let  Jews 
believe  the  pride  of  Jewry,  but  I  am  of  the  better  sort, 
and  know  better.' 

''  Another  used  as  highest  praise,  in  speaking  of  a 
character  in  literature,  the  words  '  a  manly  woman.' 

''  So  in  the  noble  passage  of  Ben  Jonson  : 

*  I  meant  the  day-star  should  not  brighter  ride, 

Nor  shed  like  influence  from  its  lucent  seat ; 
I  meant  she  should  be  courteous,  facile,  sweet, 

Free  from  that  solemn  vice  of  greatness,  pride  ; 
I  meant  each  softest  virtue  there  should  meet. 

Fit  in  that  softer  bosom  to  abide, 
Only  a  learned  and  a  manly  soul 

I  purposed  her,  that  should  with  even  powers 
The  rock,  the  spindle,  and  the  shears  control 

Of  destiny,  and  spin  her  own  free  hours.'  '* 

''Methinks,"  said  I,  '^you  are  too  fastidious  in  object- 
ing to  this.  Jonson,  in  using  the  word  'manly,'  only 
meant  to  heighten  the  picture  of  this,  the  true,  the  intel- 
ligent fate,  with  one  of  the  deeper  colors." 

"And  yet,"  said  she,  "so  invariable  is  the  use  of 
this  word  where  a  heroic  quality  is  to  be  described,  and 
I  feel  so  sure  that  persistence  and  courage  are  the  most 
womanly  no  less  than  the  most  manly  qualities,  that  I 
would  exchange  these  words  for  others  of  a  larger  sense, 
at  the  risk  of  marring  the   fine   tissue   of  the   verse. 


MIRANDA.  43 

Read,  '  A  heaven-rard  and  instructed  soul,'  and  I  should 
be  satisfied.  Let  it  not  be  said,  wherever  there  is  energy 
She  has  a  masculine  mind.'  " 


This  by  no  means  argues  a  willing  want  of  generosity 
toward  Woman.  Man  is  as  generous  towards  her  as  he 
knows  how  to  be. 

Wherever  she  has  herself  arisen  in  national  or  private 
history,  and  nobly  shone  forth  in  any  form  of  excellence, 
men  have  received  her,  not  only  willingly,  but  with  tri- 
umph. Their  encomiums,  indeed,  are  always,  in  some 
sense,  mortifying  ;  they  show  too  much  surprise.  ''  Can 
this  be  you?"  he  cries  to  the  transfigured  Cinderella ; 
"  well,  I  should  never  have  thought  it,  but  I  am  very 
glad.  We  will  tell  every  one  that  you  have  '  surpassed 
your  sex.^  " 

In  every-day  life,  the  feelings  of  the  many  are  stained 
with  vanity.  Each  wishes  to  be  lord  in  a  little  world,  to 
be  superior  at  least  over  one ;  and  he  does  not  feel  strong 
enough  to  retain  a  life-long  ascendency  over  a  strong 
nature.  Only  a  Theseus  could  conquer  before  he  Aved 
the  Amazonian  queen.  Hercules  wished  rather  to  rest 
with  Dejanira,  and  received  the  poisoned  robe  as  a  fit 
guerdon.  The  tale  should  be  interpreted  to  all  those 
who  seek  repose  with  the  weak. 

But  not  only  is  Man  vain  and  fond  of  power,  but  the 
same  want  of  development,  which  thus  affects  him  mor- 
ally, prevents  his  intellectually  discerning  the  destiny  of 
Woman.  The  boy  wants  no  woman,  but  only  a  girl  to 
play  ball  with  him,  and  mark  his  pocket  handkerchief. 


44  WOMAN  IN   THE  NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

Thus,  in  Schiller's  Dignity  of  Woman,  beautiful  as 
the  poem  is,  there  is  no  "grave  and  perfect  man,"  but 
only  a  great  boy  to  be  softened  and  restrained  by  the 
influence  of  girls.  Poets  —  the  elder  brothers  of  their 
race  —  have  usually  seen  further ;  but  what  can  you 
expect  of  every-day  men,  if  Schiller  was  not  more 
prophetic  as  to  what  women  must  be  ?  Even  with  Rich- 
ter,  one  foremost  thought  about  a  wife  was  that  she 
would  "cook  him  something  good."  But  as  this  is  a 
delicate  subject,  and  we  are  in  constant  danger  of  being 
accused  of  slighting  what  are  called  "the  functions,"  let 
me  say,  in  behalf  of  Miranda  and  myself,  that  we  have 
high  respect  for  those 'who  "cook  something  good,"  who 
create  and  preserve  fair  order  in  houses,  and  prepare 
therein  the  shining  raiment  for  worthy  inmates,  worthy 
guests.  Only  these  "  functions  "  must  not  be  a  drudg- 
)ery,  or  enforced  necessity,  but  a  part  of  life.  Let 
I  Ulysses  drive  the  beeves  home,  while  Penelope  there 
/piles  up  the  fragrant  loaves;  they  are  both  well  em- 
ployed if  these  be  done  in  thought  and  love,  willingly. 
But  Penelope  is  no  more  meant  for  a  baker  or  weaver 
solely,  than  Ulysses  for  a  cattle-herd. 
^  The  sexes  should  not  only  correspond  to  and  appre- 
ciate, but  prophesy  to  one  another.  In  individual 
instances  this  happens.  Two  persons  love  in  one 
another  the  future  good  which  they  aid  one  another  to 
unfold.  This  is  imperfectly  or  rarely  done  in  the  gen- 
eral life,  j  Man  has  gone  but  little  way  ;  now  he  is  wait- 
ing to  see  whether  Woman  can  keep  step  with  hiin^  but, 
instead  of  callmg  out,  like  a  good  brother,  "You  can  do 


PLATER.  45 

itj  if  you  only  think  so,"  or  impersonally,  ''Any  one 
can  do  what  he  tries  to  do;  "  he  often  discourages  with 
school-boy  brag:  "  Girls  can't  do  that;  girls  can't  play 
ball."  But  let  any  one  defy  their  taunts,  break  through 
and  be  brave  and  secure,  they  rend  the  air  with  shouts. 

This  fluctuation  was  obvious  in  a  narrative  I  have 
lately  seen,  the  story  of  the  life  of  Countess  Emily 
Plater,  the  heroine  of  the  last  revolution  in  Poland. 
The  dignity,  the  purity,  the  concentrated  resolve,  the 
calm,  deep  enthusiasm,  which  yet  could,  when  occasion 
called,  sparkle  up  a  holy,  an  indignant  fire,  make  of  this 
young  maiden  the  figure  I  want  for  my  frontispiece. 
Her  portrait  is  to  be  seen  in  the  book,  a  gentle  shadow 
of  her  soul.  Short  was  the  career.  Like  the  Maid  of 
Orleans,  she  only  did  enough  to  verify  her  credentials, 
and  then  passed  from  a  scene  on  which  she  was,  proba- 
bly, a  premature  apparition. 

When  the  young  girl  joined  the  army,  where  the  report 
of  her  exploits  had  preceded  her,  she  was  received  in  a 
manner  that  marks  the  usual  state  of  feeling.  Some  of 
the  officers  were  disappointed  at  her  quiet  manners  ;  that 
she  had  not  the  air  and  tone  of  a  stage-heroine.  They 
thought  she  could  not  have  acted  heroically  unless  in 
buskins ;  had  no  idea  that  such  deeds  only  showed  the 
habit  of  her  mind.  Others  talked  of  the  delicacy  of  her 
sex,  advised  her  to  withdraw  from  perils  and  dangers, 
and  had  no  comprehension  of  the  feelings  within  her 
breast  that  made  this  impossible.  The  gentle  irony  of 
her  reply  to  these  self-constituted  tutors  (not  one  of 
whom  showed  himself  her  equal  in  conduct  or  reason),  is 


46  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

as  good  as  her  indignant  reproof  at  a  later  period  to  the 
general,  whose  perfidy  ruined  all. 

But  though,  to  the  mass  of  these  men,  she  was  an 
embarrassment  and  a  puzzle,  the  nobler  sort  viewed  her 
with  a  tender  enthusiasm  worthy  of  her.  "  Her  name," 
said  her  biographer,  "  is  known  throughout  Europe.  I 
paint  her  character  that  she  may  be  as  widely  loved." 

With  pride,  he  show^s  her  freedom  from  all  personal 
affections  ;  that,  though  tender  and  gentle  in  an  uncom- 
mon degree,  there  was  no  room  for  a  private  love  in  her 
consecrated  life.  She  inspired  those  who  knew  her  with 
a  simple  energy  of  feeling  like  her  own.  "  We  have 
seen,"  they  felt,  "  a  woman  worthy  the  name,  capable  of 
all  sweet  affections,  capable  of  stern  virtue." 

It  is  a  fact  worthy  of  remark,  that  all  these  revolu- 
tions in  favor  of  liberty  have  produced  female  champions 
that  share  the  same  traits,  but  Emily  alone  has  found  a 
biographer.  Only  a  near  friend  could  have  performed 
for  her  this  task,  for  the  flower  was  reared  in  feminine 
seclusion,  and  the  few  and  simple  traits  of  her  history 
before  her  appearance  in  the  field  could  only  have  been 
known  to  the  domestic  circle.  Her  biographer  has  gath- 
ered them  up  with  a  brotherly  devotion. 

No  !  Man  is  not  willingly  ungenerous.  He  wants 
faith  and  love,  because  he  is  not  yet  himself  an  elevated 
being.  He  cries,  with  sneering  scepticism,  "  Give  us  a 
sign."  But  if  the  sign  appears,  his  eyes  glisten,  and  he 
offers  not  merely  approval,  but  homage. 

The  severe  nation  which  taught  that  the  happiness  of 
the  race  was  forfeited  through  the  fault  of  a  Woman,  and 


BVB  AND   MARY.  47 

Bhowed  its  thought  of  what  sort  of  regard  Man  owed  her, 
by  making  him  accuse  her  on  the  first  question  to  his 
God,  —  who  gave  her  to  the  patriarch  as  a  handmaid, 
and,  by  the  Mosaical  law,  bound  her  to  allegiance  like  a 
serf,  —  even  they  greeted,  with  solemn  rapture,  all 
great  and  holy  women  as  heroines,  prophetesses,  judges 
in  Israel ;  and,  if  they  made  Eve  listen  to  the  serpent, 
gave  Mary  as  a  bride  to  the  Holy  Spirit.  In  other 
nations  it  has  been  the  same  down  to  our  day.  To 
the  Woman  w^ho  could  conquer  a  triumph  was  awarded. 
And  not  only  those  whose  strength  was  recommended  to 
the  heart  by  association  with  goodness  and  beauty,  but 
those  who  were  bad,  if  they  were  steadfast  and  strong, 
had  their  claims  allowed.  In  any  age  a  Semiramis,  an 
Elizabeth  of  England,  a  Catharine  of  Russia,  makes  her 
place  good,  whether  in  a  large  or  small  circle.  How 
has  a  little  wit,  a  little  genius,  been  celebrated  in  a 
Woman  !  What  an  intellectual  triumph  was  that  of  the 
lonely  Aspasia,  and  how  heartily  acknowledged  !  She, 
indeed,  met  a  Pericles.  But  what  annalist,  the  rudest 
of  men,  the  most  plebeian  of  husbands,  will  spare  from 
his  page  one  of  the  few  anecdotes  of  Roman  women  — 
Sappho  !  Eloisa  !  The  names  are  of  threadbare  celeb- 
rity. Indeed,  they  were  not  more  suitably  met  in  their 
own  time  than  the  Countess  Colonel  Plater  on  her  first 
joining  the  army.  They  had  much  to  mourn,  and  their 
great  impulses  did  not  find  due  scope.  But  with  time 
enough,  space  enough,  their  kindred  appear  on  the 
scene.  Across  the  ages,  forms  lean,  trying  to  touch  the 
hem  of  their  retreating  robes.     The  youth  here  by  my 


48  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

side  cannot  be  weary  of  the  fragments  from  the  life  of 
Sappho.  He  will  not  believe  they  are  not  addressed  to 
himself,  or  that  he  to  whom  they  were  addressed  could 
be  ungrateful.  A  recluse  of  high  powers  devotes  him- 
self to  understand  and  explain  the  thought  of  Eloisa ; 
he  asserts  her  vast  superiority  in  soul  and  genius  to  her 
master ;  he  curses  the  fate  that  casts  his  lot  in  another 
age  than  hers.  He  could  have  understood  her ;  he  would 
have  been  to  her  a  friend,  such  as  Abelard  never  could. 
And  this  one  Woman  he  could  have  loved  and  reverenced, 
and  she,  alas  !  lay  cold  in  her  grave  hundreds  of  years 
ago.  His  sorrow  is  truly  pathetic.  These  responses, 
that  come  too  late  to  give  joy,  are  as  tragic  as  anything 
we  know,  and  yet  the  tears  of  later  ages  glitter  as  they 
fall  on  Tasso's  prison  bars.  And  we  know  how  elevating 
to  the  captive  is  the  security  that  somewhere  an  intel- 
ligence must  answer  to  his. 

The  Man  habitually  most  narrow  towards  Woman  will 
be  flushed,  as  by  the  worst  assault  on  Christianity,  if  you 
say  it  has  made  no  improvement  in  her  condition.  In- 
deed, those  most  opposed  to  new  acts  in  her  fa\^or,  are 
jealous  of  the  reputation  of  those  which  have  been 
done. 

We  will  not  speak  of  the  enthusiasm  excited  by  act- 
resses, improvisatrici,  female  singers,  —  for  here  mingles 
the  charm  of  beauty  and  grace,  — but  female  authors,  even 
learned  women,  if  not  insufferably  ugly  and  slovenly, 
from  the  Italian  professor's  daughter  who  taught  behind 
the  curtain,  down  to  Mrs.  Carter  and  Madame  Dacier, 
are  sure  of  an  admiring  audience,  and,  what  is  far  bet- 


LET  ALL  THE  PLANTS  GROW!  49  ' 

ter^  chance  to  use  what  thej  have  learned,  and  to  learn 
more,  if  they  can  once  get  a  platform  on  which  to  stand. 

But  how  to  get  this  platform,  or  how  to  make  it  of 
reasonably  easy  access,  is  the  difficulty.  Plants  of  great 
vigor  will  almost  always  struggle  into  blossom,  despite 
impediments.  But  there  should  be  encouragement,  and 
a  free  genial  atmosphere  for  those  of  more  timid  sort, 
fair  play  for  each  in  its  own  kind.  Some  are  like  the 
little,  delicate  flowers  which  love  to  hide  in  the  dripping 
mosses,  by  the  sides  of  mountain  torrents,  or  in  the  shade 
of  tall  trees.  But  others  require  an  open  field,  a  rich 
and  loosened  soil,  or  they  never  show  their  proper 
hues. 

It  may  be  said  that  Man  does  not  have  his  fair  play 
either;  his  energies  are  repressed  and  distorted  by  the 
interposition  of  artificial  obstacles.  Ay,  but  he  himself 
has  put  them  there ;  they  have  grown  out  of  his  own 
imperfections.  If  there  is  a  misfortune  in  Woman's  lot, 
it  is  in  obstacles  being  interposed  by  men,  which  do  7iot 
mark  her  state  ;  and,  if  they  express  her  past  ignorance, 
do  not  her  present  needs.  As  every  Man  is  of  Woman 
born,  she  has  slow  but  sure  means  of  redress ;  yet  the 
sooner  a  general  justness  of  thought  makes  smooth  the 
path,  the  better. 

Man  is  of  Woman  born,  and  her  face  bends  over  himj 
in  infancy  with  an  expression  he  can  never  quite  forget.  * 
Eminent  men  have  delighted  to  pay  tribute  to  this  image, 
and  it  is  an  hackneyed  observation,  that  most  men  of 
genius  boast  some  remarkable  development  in  the  mother. 
The  rudest  tar  brushes  off  a  tear  with  his  coat-sleeve  at 
5 


50     WOMAN  IN  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY. 

the  hallowed  name.  The  other  day,  I  met  a  decrepit  old 
man  of  seventy,  on  a  journey,  who  challenged  the  stage 
company  to  guess  where  he  was  going.  They  guessed 
aright,  "To  see  your  mother."  "Yes,"  said  he, "she 
is  ninety-two,  but  has  good  eyesight  still,  they  say.  I 
have  not  seen  her  these  forty  years,  and  I  thought  I  could 
not  die  in  peace  without."  I  should  have  liked  his  picture 
painted  as  a  companion-piece  to  that  of  a  boisterous 
little  boy,  whom  I  saw  attempt  to  declaim  at  a  school  ex- 
hibition — 

**  0  that  those  lips  had  language  !     Life  has  passed 
With  me  but  roughly  since  I  heard  thee  last." 

He  got  but  very  little  way  before  sudden  tears  shamed 
him  from  the  stage. 
.  Some  gleams  of  the  same  expression  which  shone 
■  down  upon  his  infancy,  angelically  pure  and  benign,  visit 
Man  again  with  hopes  of  pure  love,  of  a  holy  marriage. 
Or,  if  not  before,  in  the  eyes  of  the  mother  of  his  child 
they  again  are  seen,  and  dim  fancies  pass  before  his  mind, 
that  Woman  may  not  have  been  born  for  him  alone,  but 
have  come  from  heaven,  a  commissioned  soul,  a  messen- 
ger of  truth  and  love ;  that  she  can  only  make  for  him  a 
home  in  which  he  may  lawfully  repose,  in  so  far  as  she  is 

*'  True  to  the  kindred  points  of  Heaven  and  home." 

In  gleams,  in  dim  fancies,  this  thought  visits  the  mind 
of  common  men.  It  is  soon  obscured  by  the  mists  of 
sensuality,  the  dust  of  routine,  and  he  thinks  it  was  only 
some  meteor   or  ignis  fatuus  that  shone.      But,   as  a 


ISIS.  51 

Rosicrucian  lamp,  it  bums  unwearied,  though  condemned 
to  the  solitude  of  tombs  ;  and  to  its  permanent  life,  as  to 
every  truth,  each  age  has  in  some  form  borne  witness. 
For  the  truths,  which  visit  the  minds  of  careless  men 
only  in  fitful  gleams,  shine  with  radiant  clearness  into 
those  of  the  poet,  the  priest,  and  the  artist. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  domestic  manners  of  the 
ancients,  the  idea  of  Woman  was  nobly  manifested  in 
their  mythologies  and  poems,  where  she  appears  as  Sita 
in  the  Ramayana,  a  form  of  tender  purity ;  as  the  Egyp- 
tian Isis,=^  of  divine  wisdom  never  yet  surpassed.  In 
Egypt,  too,  the  Sphynx,  walking  the  earth  with  lion 
tread,  looked  out  upon  its  marvels  in  the  calm,  inscrut- 
able beauty  of  a  virgin's  face,  and  the  Greek  could  only 
add  wings  to  the  great  emblem.  In  Greece.  Ceres  and 
Proserpine,  significantly  termed  '"  the  great  goddesses," 
were  seen  seated  side  by  side.  They  needed  not  to  rise 
for  any  worshipper  or  any  change ;  they  were  prepared 
for  all  things,  as  those  initiated  to  their  mysteries  knew. 
More  obvious  is  the  meaning  of  these  three  forms,  the 
Diana,  Minerva,  and  Yesta.  Unlike  in  the  expression 
of  their  beauty,  but  alike  in  this, —  that  each  was  self- 
sufficing.  Other  forms  were  only  accessories  and  illus- 
trations, none  the  complement  to  one  like  these.  Another 
might,  indeed,  be  the  companion,  and  the  Apollo  and 
Diana  set  ofi"  one  another's  beauty.  Of  the  Vesta,  it  is 
to  be  observed,  that  not  only  deep-eyed,  deep-discerning 
Greece,  but  ruder  Rome,  who  represents  the  only  form 
of  good  man  (the  always  busy  warrior)  that  could  be 

*  For  an  adequate  description  of  the  Isis,  see  Appendix  A. 


52  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

indifferent  to  "Woman,  confided  the  permanence  of  its  glory- 
to  a  tutelary  goddess,  and  her  wisest  legislator  spoke  of 
meditation  as  a  nymph. 

Perhaps  in  Rome  the  neglect  of  Woman  was  a  reaction 
on  the  manners  of  Etruria,  where  the  priestess  Queen^ 
warrior  Queen,  would  seem  to  have  been  so  usual  a  char- 
acter. 

An  instance  of  the  noble  Roman  marriage,  where  the 
stern  and  calm  nobleness  of  the  nation  was  common  to 
both,  we  see  in  the  historic  page  through  the  little  that 
is  told  us  of  Brutus  and  Portia.  Shakspeare  has 
seized  on  the  relation  in  its  native  lineaments,  harmoniz- 
ing the  particular  with  the  universal ;  and,  while  it  is 
conjugal  love,  and  no  other,  making  it  unlike  the  same 
relation  as  seen  in  Cymbeline,  or  Othello,  even  as  one 
star  differeth  from  another  in  glory. 

"  By  that  great  vow 
Which  did  incorporate  and  make  us  one. 
Unfold  to  me,  yourself,  your  other  half. 
Why  you  are  heavy.     *     *         * 

Dwell  I  but  in  the  suburbs 
Of  your  good  pleasure  ?    If  it  be  no  more, 
Portia  is  Brutus'  harlot,  not  his  wife." 

Mark  the  sad  majesty  of  his  tone  in  answer.     Who 

would  not  have  lent  a  life-long  credence  to  that  voice  of 

honor  ? 

*'  You  are  my  true  and  honorable  wife  ; 
As  dear  to  me  as  are  the  ruddy  drops 
That  visit  this  sad  heart." 

It  is  the  same  voice  that  tells  the  moral  of  his  life  in 
the  last  words  — 


PORTIA.  68 

"  Countrymen, 
My  heart  doth  joy,  that,  yet  in  all  my  life, 
I  found  no  man  but  he  was  true  to  me.'* 

It  was  not  wonderful  that  it  should  be  so. 

Shakspeare,  however,  was  not  content  to  let  Portia 
rest  her  plea  for  confidence  on  the  essential  nature  of  the 
marriage  bond : 

**  I  grant  I  am  a  woman  ;  but  withal, 
A  woman  that  lord  Brutus  took  to  wife. 
I  grant  I  am  a  woman  :  but  withal, 
A  woman  well  reputed —  Cato's  daughter. 
Think  you  I  am  no  stronger  than  my  sex. 
Being  so  fathered  and  so  husbanded  ?  " 

And  afterward  in  the  very  scene  where  Brutus  is  suf- 
fering under  that  "  insupportable  and  touching  loss,"  the 
death  of  his  wife,  Cassius  pleads  — 

"  Have  you  not  love  enough  to  bear  with  me. 
When  that  rash  humor  which  my  mother  gave  me 
Makes  me  forgetful  ? 
Brutus.  —  Yes,  Cassius,  and  henceforth, 

"When  you  are  over-earnest  with  your  Brutus, 
He'll  think  your  mother  chides,  and  leaves  you  so." 

As  indeed  it  was  a  frequent  belief  among  the  ancients, 
as  with  our  Indians,  that  the  body  was  inherited  from 
the  mother,  the  soul  from  the  father.  As  in  that  noble 
passage  of  Ovid,  already  quoted,  where  Jupiter,  as  his 
divine  synod  are  looking  down  on  the  funeral  pyre  of 
Hercules,  thus  triumphs  — 

*•  Nee  nisi  maternd  Vulcanum  parte  potentem, 
Sentiet.     Aeternum  est,  a  me  quod  traxit,  et  expers 

5* 


54  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURT. 

Atque  immune  necis,  nullaque  domabile  flamma 
Idque  ego  defunctum  terra  coelestibus  oris 
Accipiam,  cunctisque  meum  laetabile  factum 
Dis  fore  confido. 

*'  The  part  alone  of  gross  maternal  frame 
Fire  shall  devour  ;  while  that  from  me  he  drew 
Shall  live  immortal  and  its  force  renew  ; 
That,  when  he 's  dead,  I  '11  raise  to  realms  above  ; 
Let  all  the  powers  the  righteous  act  approve." 

It  is  indeed  a  god  speaking  of  his  union  with  an 
earthly  Woman,  but  it  expresses  the  common  Roman 
thought  as  to  marriage, —  the  same  which  permitted  a 
man  to  lend  his  wife  to  a  friend,  as  if  she  were  a  chattel. 

*'  She  dwelt  but  in  the  suburbs  of  his  good  pleasure.'* 

Yet  the  same  city,  as  I  have  said,  leaned  on  the  worship 
of-  Yesta,  the  Preserver,  and  in  later  times  was  devoted 
to  that  of  Isis.  In  Sparta,  thought,  in  this  respect  as  in 
all  others,  was  expressed  in  the  characters  of  real  life, 
and  the  women  of  Sparta  were  as  much  Spartans  as  the 
men.  The  "  citoyen,  citoyenne  "  of  France  was  here 
actualized.  Was  not  the  calm  equality  they  enjoyed  as 
honorable  as  the  devotion  of  chivalry  ?  They  intel- 
ligently shared  the  ideal  life  of  their  nation. 
Like  the  men  they  felt 

*'  Honor  gone,  all 's  gone  : 
Better  never  have  been  born."    ,^^^ 

They  were  the  true  friends  of  men.  The  Spartan, 
surely,  would  not  think  that  he  received  only  his  body 
from  his  mother.  The  sage,  had  he  lived  in  that  com- 
munity, could  not  have  thought  the  souls  of  "  vain  and 


WOMAN   IN    GREECE.  55 

foppish  men  will  be  degraded  after  death  to  the  forms  of 
women ;  and,  if  they  do  not  then  make  great  efforts  to 
retrieve  themselves,  will  become  birds." 

(By  the  way,  it  is  very  expressive  of  the  hard  intel- 
lectuality of  the  merely  mannish  mind,  to  speak  thus  of 
birds,  chosen  always  by  the  femiiiine  poet  as  the  sym- 
bols of  his  fairest  thoughts.) 

We  are  told  of  the  Greek  nations  in  general,  that 
Woman  occupied  there  an  infinitely  lower  place  than 
Man.  It  is  difficult  to  believe  this,  when  we  see  such 
range  and  dignity  of  thought  on  the  subject  in  the 
mythologies,  and  find  the  poets  producing  such  ideals  as 
(^assandra,  Iphigenia,  Antigone,  Macaria;  where  Sibyl- 
line priestesses  told  the  oracle  of  the  highest  god,  and  he 
could  not  be  content  to  reign  with  a  court  of  fewer  than 
nine  muses.     Even  Victory  wore  a  female  form. 

But,  whatever  were  the  facts  of  daily  life,  I  cannot 
complain  of  the  age  and  nation  which  represents  its 
thought  by  such  a  symbol  as  I  see  before  me  at  this 
moment.  It  is  a  zodiac  of  the  busts  of  gods  and  god- 
desses, arranged  in  pairs.  The  circle  breathes  the  music 
of  a  heavenly  order.  Male  and  female  heads  are  distinct 
in  expression,  but  equal  in  beauty,  strength  and  calm- 
ness. Each  male  head  is  that  of  a  brother  and  a  king, 
—  each  female  of  a  sister  and  a  queen.  Could  the 
thought  thus  expressed  be  lived  out,  there  would  be 
nothing  more  to  be  desired.  There  would  be  unison  in 
variety,  congeniaity  in  difference. 

Coming  nearer  our  own  time,  we  find  religion  and 
poetry  no  less  true  in  their  revelations.     The  rude  man, 


56  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

just  disengaged  from  the  sod,  the  Adam,  accuses  Woman 
to  his  God,  and  records  her  disgrace  to  their  posterity. 
He  is  not  ashamed  to  write  that  he  could  be  drawn  from 
heaven  by  one  beneath  him, —  one  made,  he  says,  from 
but  a  small  part  of  himself.  But  in  the  same  nation, 
educated  by  time,  instructed  by  a  succession  of  prophets, 
we  find  Woman  in  as  high  a  position  as  she  has  ever  oc- 
cupied. No  figure  that  has  ever  arisen  to  greet  our  eyes 
has  been  received  with  more  fervent  reverence  than  that 
of  the  Madonna.  Heine  calls  her  the  Dame  du  Comp- 
toir  of  the  Catholic  church,  and  this  jeer  well  expresses 
a  serious  truth. 

And  not  only  this  holy  and  significant  image  was  wor- 
shipped by  the  pilgrim,  and  the  favorite  subject  of  the 
artist,  but  it  exercised  an  immediate  influence  on  the 
destiny  of  the  sex.  The  empresses  who  embraced  the 
cross  converted  sons  and  husbands.  Whole  calendars 
of  female  saints,  heroic  dames  of  chivalry,  binding  the 
emblem  of  faith  on  the  heart  of  the  best-beloved,  and 
wasting  the  bloom  of  youth  in  separation  and  loneliness, 
for  the  sake  of  duties  they  thought  it  religion  to  assume, 
with  innumerable  forms  of  poesy,  trace  their  lineage  to 
this  one.  Nor,  however  imperfect  may  be  the  action, 
in  our  day,  of  the  faith  thus  expressed,  and  though  we 
can  scarcely  think  it  nearer  this  ideal  than  that  of  India 
or  Greece  was  near  their  ideal,  is  it  in  vain  that  the  truth 
has  been  recognized,  that  Woman  is  not  only  a  part  of 
Man,  bone  of  his  bone,  and  flesh  of  his  flesh,  born  that 
men  might  not  be  lonely  —  but  that  women  are  in  them- 
selves possessors  of  and   possessed  by   immortal   souls. 


WOMAN  m  SPAIN.  57 

Tliis  truth  undoubtedly  received  a  greater  outward  sta- 
bility from  the  belief  of  the  church  that  the  earthly 
parent  of  the  Saviour  of  souls  was  a  woman. 

The  Assumption  of  the  Virgin,  as  painted  by  sublime 
artists,  as  also  Petrarch's  Hymn  to  the  Madonna,*  can- 
not have  spoken  to  the  world  wholly  without  result,  yet 
oftentimes  those  who  had  ears  heard  not. 

See  upon  the  nations  the  influence  of  this  powerful 
example.  In  Spain  look  only  at  the  ballads.  Woman 
in  these  is  "very  Woman;"  she  is  the  betrothed,  the 
bride,  the  spouse  of  Man ;  there  is  on  her  no  hue  of  the 
philosopher,  the  heroine,  the  savante,  but  she  looks  great 
and  noble.  Why  ?  Because  she  is  also,  through  her  deep 
devotion,  the  betrothed  of  Heaven.  Her  upturned  eyes 
have  drawn  down  the  light  that  casts  a  radiance  round 
her.  See  only  such  a  ballad  as  that  of  "  Lady  Teresa's 
Bridal,"  where  the  Infanta,  given  to  the  Moorish  bride- 
groom, calls  down  the  vengeance  of  Heaven  on  his  un- 
hallowed passion,  and  thinks  it  not  too  much  to  expiate 
by  a  life  in  the  cloister  the  involuntary  stain  upon  her 
princely  youth.f  It  was  this  constant  sense  of  claims 
above  those  of  earthly  love  or  happiness  that  made  the 
Spanish  lady  who  shared  this  spirit  a  guerdon  to  be  won 
by  toils  and  blood  and  constant  purity,  rather  than  a  chat- 
tel to  be  bought  for  pleasure  and  service. 

Germany  did  not  need  to  learn  a  high  view  of  Woman ; 
it  was  inborn  in  that  race.  Woman  was  to  the  Teuton 
warrior  his  priestess,  his  friend,  his  sister. —  in  truth,  a 
vife.     And  the  Christian  statues  of  noble  pairs,  as  they 

*  Appendix  B  f  Appendix  C. 


68  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

lie  abov3  their  graves  in  stone,  expressing  the  meaning 
of  all  the  by-gone  pilgrimage  by  hands  folded  in  mutual 
prayer,  yield  not  a  nobler  sense  of  the  place  and  powers 
of  Woman  than  belonged  to  the  altvater  day.  The  holy 
love  of  Christ  which  summoned  them,  also,  to  choose 
"  the  better  part  —  that  which  could  not  be  taken  from, 
them,"  refined  and  hallowed  in  this  nation  a  native  faith  ; 
thus  showing  that  it  was  not  the  warlike  spirit  alone  that 
left  the  Latins  so  barbarous  in  this  respect. 

But  the  Germans,  taking  so  kindly  to  this  thought, 
did  it  the  more  justice.  The  idea  of  Woman  in  their 
literature  is  expressed  both  to  a  greater  height  and  depth 
than  elsewhere. 

I  will  give  as  instances  the  themes  of  three  ballads  : 

One  is  upon  a  knight  who  had  always  the  name  of  the 
Virgin  on  his  lips.  This  protected  him  all  his  life 
through,  in  various  and  beautiful  modes,  both  from  sin 
and  other  dangers;  and,  when  he  died,  a  plant  sprang 
from  his  grave,  which  so  gently  whispered  the  Ave 
Maria  that  none  could  pass  it  by  with  an  unpurified  heart. 

Another  is  one  of  the  legends  of  the  famous  Dra- 
chenfels.  A  maiden,  one  of  the  earliest  converts  to 
Christianity,  was  carried  by  the  enraged  populace  to  this 
dread  haunt  of  "  the  dragon's  fabled  brood,"  to  be 
their  prey.  She  was  left  alone,  but  undismayed,  for  she 
knew  in  whom  she  trusted.  So,  when  the  dragons 
came  rushing  towards  her,  she  showed  them  a  crucifix 
and  they  crouched  reverently  at  her  feet.  Next  day  the 
people  came,  and,  seeing  these  wonders,  were  all  turned  to 
the  faith  which  exalts  the  lowly. 


RHINE  LEGEND.  59 

The  third  I  have  in  mind  is  another  of  the  Rhine 
legends.  A  youth  is  sitting  with  the  maid  he  loves  on 
the  shore  of  an  isle,  her  fairy  kingdom,  then  perfumed 
by  the  blossoming  grape-vines  which  draped  its  bowers. 
They  are  happy ;  all  blossoms  with  them,  and  life  prom- 
ises its  richest  wine.  A  boat  approaches  on  the  tide ; 
it  pauses  at  their  feet.  It  brings,  perhaps,  some  joyous 
message,  fresh  dew  for  their  flowers,  fresh  light  on  the 
wave.  No  !  it  is  the  usual  check  on  such  great  happi- 
ness. The  father  of  the  count  departs  for  the  crusade ; 
will  his  son  join  him,  or  remain  to  rule  their  domain, 
and  wed  her  he  loves  ?  Neither  of  the  afiianced  pair 
hesitates  a  moment.  "I  must  go  with  my  father,"  — 
*'  Thou  must  go  with  thy  father."  It  was  one  thought, 
one  word.  "  I  will  be  here  again,"  he  said,  f  when 
these  blossoms  have  turned  to  purple  grapes."  "  I  hope 
so,"  she  sighed,  while  the  prophetic  sense  said  "no." 

And  there  she  waited,  and  the  grapes  ripened,  and 
were  gathered  into  the  vintage,  and  he  came  not.  Year 
after  year  passed  thus,  and  no  tidings ;  yet  still  she 
waited. 

He,  meanwhile,  was  in  a  Moslem  prison.  Long  he 
languished  there  without  hope,  till,  at  last,  his  patron 
saint  appeared  in  vision  and  announced  his  release,  but 
only  on  condition  of  his  joining  the  monastic  order  for 
the  service  of  the  saint. 

And  so  his  release  was  effected,  and  a  safe  voyage 
home  given.  And  once  more  he  sets  sail  upon  the 
Rhine.  The  maiden,  still  watching  beneath  the  vines, 
sees  at  last  the  object  of  all  this  patient  love  approach — 


60     WOMAN  IN  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY. 

approach,  but  not  to  touch  the  strand  to  which  she,  with 
outstretched  arms,  has  rushed.  He  dares  not  trust  him- 
self to  land,  but  in  low,  heart-broken  tones,  tells  her  of 
Heaven's  will ;  and  that  he,  in  obedience  to  his  vow,  is 
now  on  his  way  to  a  convent  on  the  river-bank,  there  to 
pass  the  rest  of  his  earthly  life  in  the  service  of  the 
shrine.  And  then  he  turns  his  boat,  and  floats  away  from 
her  and  hope  of  any  happiness  in  this  world,  but  urged, 
as  he  believes,  by  the  breath  of  Heaven. 

The  maiden  stands  appalled,  but  she  dares  not  mur- 
mur, and  cannot  hesitate  long.  She  also  bids  them  pre- 
pare her  boat.  She  follows  her  lost  love  to  the  convent 
gate,  requests  an  interview  with  the  abbot,  and  devotes 
her  Elysian  isle,  where  vines  had  ripened  their  ruby 
fruit  in  vain  for  her,  to  the  service  of  the  monastery 
where  her  love  was  to  serve.  Then,  passing  over  to  the 
nunnery  opposite,  she  takes  the  veil,  and  meets  her 
betrothed  at  the  altar ;  and  for  a  life-long  union,  if  not 
the  one  they  had  hoped  in  earlier  years. 

Is  not  this  sorrowful  story  of  a  lofty  beauty  ?  Does 
it  not  show  a  sufficiently  high  view  of  Woman,  of  Mar- 
riage? This  is  commonly  the  chivalric,  still  more  the 
German  view. 

Yet,  wherever  there  was  a  balance  in  the  mind  of  Man, 
of  sentiment  with  intellect,  such  a  result  was  sure.  The 
Greek  Xenophon  has  not  only  painted  us  a  sweet  picture 
of  the  domestic  Woman,  in  his  Economics,  but  in  the 
Cyropedia  has  given,  in  the  picture  of  Panthea,  a  view 
of  Woman  which  no  German  picture  can  surpass,  whether 
lonely  and  quiet  with  veiled  lids,  the  temple  of  a  vestal 


WOMAN   HAD   ALWAYS   HER   SHARE   OF  POWER.      61 

loveliness,  or  with  eyes  flashing,  and  hair  flowing  to  the 
free  wind,  cheering  on  the  hero  to  fight  for  his  God,  his 
country,  or  whatever  name  his  duty  might  bear  at  the 
time.  This  picture  I  shall  copy  by  and  by.  Yet  Xen- 
ophon  grew  up  in  the  same  age  with  him  who  makes 
Iphigenia  say  to  Achilles, 

"  Better  a  thousand  women  should  perish  than  one  man  cease  to 
see  the  light." 

This  was  the  vulgar  Greek  sentiment.  Xenophon,  aim- 
ing at  the  ideal  Man,  caught  glimpses  of  the  ideal 
Woman  also.  From  the  figure  of  a  Cyrus  the  Pantheas 
stand  not  afar.  They  do  not  in  thought ;  they  would 
not  in  life. 

I  could  swell  the  catalogue  of  instances  far  beyond  the 
reader's  patience.  But  enough  have  been  brought  for- 
ward to  show  that,  though  there  has  been  great  disparity 
betwixt  the  nations  as  between  individuals  in  their  cul- 
ture on  this  point,  yet  the  idea  of  Woman  has  always  cast 
some  rays  and  often  been  forcibly  represented. 

Far  less  has  Woman  to  complain  that  sha, has  Jiot  had 
her  share  of  power.  This,  in  all  ranks  of  society,  except 
the  lowest,  has  been  hers  to  the  extent  that  vanity 
would  crave,  far  beyond  what  wisdom  would  accept.  In 
the  very  lowest,  where  Man,  pressed  by  poverty,  sees  in 
Woman  only  the  partner  of  toils  and  cares,  and  cannot 
hope,  scarcely  has  an  idea  of,  a  comfortable  home,  he 
often  maltreats  her,  and  is  less  influenced  by  her. 
In  all  ranks,  those  who  are  gentle  and  uncomplaining, 
too  candid  to  intrigue,  too  delicate  to  encroach,  sufier 
6 


62  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

much.  They  suffer  long,  and  are  kind;  verily,  they 
have  their  reward.  But  wherever  Man  is  sufficiently 
raised  above  extreme  poverty,  or  brutal  stupidity, 
to  care  for  the  comforts  of  the  fireside,  or  the  bloom 
and  ornament  of  life,  Woman  has  always  power  enough, 
if  she  choose  to  exert  it,  and  is  usually  disposed  to  do 
so,  in  proportion  to  her  ignorance  and  childish  van- 
ity. Unacquainted  with  the  importance  of  life  and  its 
purposes,  trained  to  a  selfish  coquetry  and  love  of 
petty  power,  she  does  not  look  beyond  the  pleasure  of 
making  herself  felt  at  the  moment,  and  governments  are 
shaken  and  commerce  broken  up  to  gratify  the  pique  of 
a  female  favorite.  The  English  shopkeeper's  wife  does 
not  vote,  but  it  is  for  her  interest  that  the  politician  can- 
vasses by  the  coarsest  flattery.  France  suffers  no  woman 
on  her  throne,  but  her  proud  nobles  kiss  the  dust  at  the 
feet  of  Pompadour  and  Dubarry ;  for  such  flare  in  the 
lighted  foreground  where  a  Roland  would  modestly  aid  in 
the  closet.  Spain  (that  same  Spain  which  sang  of  Ximena 
and  the  Lady  Teresa)  shuts  up  her  women  in  the  care  of 
duennas,  and  allows  them  no  book  but  the  breviary  ;  but 
the  ruin  follows  only  the  more  surely  from  the  worthless 
favorite  of  a  worthless  queen.  Relying  on  mean  precau- 
tions, men  indeed  cry  peace,  peace,  where  there  is  no  peace. 
It  is  not  the  transient  breath  of  poetic  incense  that 
women  want ;  each  can  receive  that  from  a  lover.  It  is 
not  life-long  sway ;  it  needs  but  to  become  a  coquette,  a 
shrew,  or  a  good  cook,  to  be  sure  of  that.  It  is  not 
money,  nor  notoriety,  nor  the  badges  of  authority  which 
men  have  appropriated  to  themselves.    If  demands,  made 


GIVE   THE   LIBERTY   OF   THE   LAW.  63 

in  their  behalf,  lay  stress  on  any  of  these  particulars, 
those  who  make  them  have  not  searched  deeply  into  the 
need.  The  want  is  for  that  which  at  once  includes  these 
and  precludes  them  ;  which  would  not  be  forbidden  power, 
lest  there  be  temptation  to  steal  and  misuse  it ;  which 
would  not  have  the  mind  perverted  by  flattery  from  a 
worthiness  of  esteem ;  it  is  for  that  which  is  the  birthright 
of  every  being  capable  of  receiving  it,  —  the  freedom,  the 
religious,  the  intelligent  freedom  of  the  universe  to  use 
its  means,  to  learn  its  secret,  as  far  as  Nature  has  enabled 
them,  with  God  alone  for  their  guide  and  their  judge. 

Ye  cannot  believe  it,  men ;  but  the  only  reason  why^ 
women  ever  assume  what  is  more  appropriate  to  you,  is  / 
because  you  prevent  them  from  finding  put  what  is  fit  for  > 
themselves.     Were  they  free,  were  they   wise  fuUy  to 
develop  the  strength  aiul  beauty  of  Woman ;  they  would 
never  wish  to  be  men.  or  man-like.     The  well-instructed 
moon  flies  not  from  her  orbit  to  seize  on  the  glories  of 
her  partner.     No ;  for  she  knows  that  one  law  rules,  one 
heaven  contains,  one  universe  replies  to  them  alike.     It 
is  with  w;omen  as  with  the  slave  : 

•'  Vor  dem  Sklaven,  wenn  er  die  Kette  bricht, 
Vor  dem  freien  Menschen  erzittert  nicht." 

Tremble  not  before  the  free  man,  but  before  the  slave 
who  has  chains  to  break. 

In  slavery,  acknowledged  slavery,  women  are  on  a  par 
with  men.  Each  is  a  work-tool,  an  article  of  property, 
no  more !  In  perfect  freedom,  such  as  is  painted  in 
Olympus,  in  Swedenborg's  angelic  state,  in  the  heaven 


64  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

where  there  is  no  marrying  nor  giving  in  marriage,  each 
is  a  purified  intelligence,  an  enfranchised  soul, —  no  less. 

**  Jene  himmlische  Gestalten 
Sie  fragen  nicht  nach  Mann  und  Weib, 

Und  keine  kleider,  keine  Falten 
Umgeben  den  verklarten  Leib." 

The  child  who  sang  this  was  a  prophetic  form,  expres- 
sive of  the  longing  for  a  state  of  perfect  freedom,  pure 
love.  She  could  not  remain  here,  but  was'  translated 
to  another  air.  And  it  may  be  that  the  air  of  this  earth 
will  never  be  so  tempered  that  such  can  bear  it  long. 
But,  while  they  stay,  they  must  bear  testimony  to  the 
truth  they  are  constituted  to  demand. 

That  an  era  approaches  which  shall  approximate 
nearer  to  such  a  temper  than  any  has  yet  done,  there  are 
many  tokens  ;  indeed,  so  many  that  only  a  few  of  the 
most  prominent  can  here  be  enumerated. 

The  reigns  of  Elizabeth  of  England  and  Isabella  of 
Castile  foreboded  this  era.  They  expressed  the  beginning 
of  the  new  state,  while  they  forwarded  its  progress. 
These  were  strong  characters,  and  in  harmony  with  the 
wants  of  their  time.  One  showed  that  this  strength  did 
not  unfit  a  woman  for  the  duties  of  a  wife  and  a  mother ; 
the  other,  that  it  could  enable  her  to  live  and  die  alone, 
a  wide  energetic  life,  a  courageous  death.  Elizabeth  is 
certainly  no  pleasing  example.  In  rising  above  the 
weakness,  she  did  not  lay  aside  the  foibles  ascribed  to 
her  sex ;  but  her  strength  must  be  respected  now,  as  it 
was  in  her  own  time. 

Mary  Stuart  and  Elizabeth  seem  types,  moulded  by 


65 

the  spirit  of  the  time,  and  placed  upon  an  elevated  plat- 
form, to  show  to  the  coming  ages  Woman  such  as  the 
conduct  and  wishes  of  Man  in  general  is  likely  to  make 
her.  The  first  shows  Woman  lovely  even  to  allure- 
ment; quick  in  apprehension  and  weak  in  judgment; 
with  grace  and  dignity  of  sentiment,  but  no  principle ; 
credulous  and  indiscreet,  yet  artful ;  capable  of  sudden 
greatness  or  of  crime,  but  not  of  a  steadfast  wis- 
dom, nor  self-restraining  virtue.  The  second  reveals 
Woman  half-emancipated  and  jealous  of  her  freedom, 
such  as  she  has  figured  before  or  since  in  many  a  com- 
bative attitude,  mannish,  not  equally  manly ;  strong  and 
prudent  more  than  great  or  wise ;  able  to  control  vanity, 
and  the  wish  to  rule  through  coquetry  and  passion,  but 
not  to  resign  these  dear  deceits  from  the  very  founda- 
tion, as  unworthy  a  being  capable  of  truth  and  noble- 
ness. Elizabeth,  taught  by  adversity,  put  on  her  vir- 
tues as  armor,  more  than  produced  them  in  a  natural 
order  from  her  soul.  The  time  and  her  position  called 
on  her  to  act  the  wise  sovereign,  and  she  was  proud  that 
she  could  do  so,  but  her  tastes  and  inclinations  would 
have  led  her  to  act  the  weak  woman.  She  was  without 
magnanimity  of  any  kind. 

We  may  accept  as  an  omen  for  ourselves  that  it  was^, 
Isabella  who  furnished  Columbus  with   the   means  of         \ 
coming  hither.     This  land    must  pay  back  its  debt  to 
Woman,    without   whose   aid   it   would   not  have   been   /^ 
brought  into  alliance  with  the  civilized  world. 

A  graceful  and  meaning  figure  is  that  introduced  to  us 
by  Mr.   Prescott,  in  the   Conquest  of  Mexico,   in  the 
6* 


66  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH    CENTURY. 

Indian  girl  Marina,  who  accompanied  Cortez,  and  was 
his  interpreter  in  all  the  various  difficulties  of  his  career. 
She  stood  at  his  side,  on  the  walls  of  the  besieged  palace, 
to  plead  with  her  enraged  countrymen.  By  her  name 
he  was  known  in  New  Spain,  and,  after  the  conquest,  her 
gentle  intercession  was  often  of  avail  to  the  conquered. 
The  poem  of  the  Future  may  be  read  in  some  features  of 
the  story  of  "  Malinche." 

The  influence  of  Elizabeth  on  literature  was  real, 
though,  by  sympathy  with  its  finer  productions,  she  was 
no  more  entitled  to  give  name  to  an  era  than  Queen 
Anne.  It  was  simply  that  the  fact  of  having  a  female 
sovereign  on  the  throne  affected  the  course  of  a  writer's 
thoughts.  In  this  sense,  the  presence  of  a  woman  on  the 
throne  always  makes  its  mark.  Life  is  lived  before  the 
eyes  of  men,  by  which  their  imaginations  are  stimulated 
as  to  the  possibilities  of  Woman.  ''  We  will  die  for  our 
king,  Maria  Theresa,"  cry  the  wild  warriors,  clashing 
their  swords  ;  and  the  sounds  vibrate  through  the  poems 
of  that  generation.  The  range  of  female  character  in 
Spenser  alone  might  content  us  for  one  period.  Brito- 
mart  and  Belphoebe  have  as  much  room  on  the  canvas  as 
Florimel;  and,  where  this  is  the  case,  the  haughtiest 
Amazon  will  not  murmur  that  Una  should  be  felt  to  be 
the  fairest  type. 

Unlike  as  was  the  English  queen  to  a  fairy  queen,  we 
may  yet  conceive  that  it  was  the  image  of  a  queen  before 
the  poet's  mind  that  called  up  this  splendid  court  of 
women.  Shakspeare's  range  is  also  great ;  but  he  has 
left  out  the  heroic  characters,  such  as  the  Macaria  of 


ENGLISH  IDEALS.  67 

Greece,  the  Britomart  of  Spenser.  Ford  and  Massinger 
have,  in  this  respect,  soared  to  a  higher  flight  of  feeling 
than  he.  It  was  the  holy  and  heroic  Woman  they 
most  loved,  and  if  they  could  not  paint  an  Imogen,  a 
Desdemona,  a  Rosalind,  yet,  in  those  of  a  stronger  mould, 
they  showed  a  higher  ideal,  though  with  so  much  less 
poetic  power  to  embody  it,  than  we  see  in  Portia  or  Isa- 
bella. The  simple  truth  of  Cordelia,  indeed,  is  of  this 
sort.  The  beauty  of  Cordelia  is  neither  male  nor  female ; 
it  is  the  beauty  of  virtue. 

The  ideal  of  love  and  marriage  rose  high  in  the  mind 
of  all  the  Christian  nations  who  were  capable  of  grave 
and  deep  feeling.  We  may  take  as  examples  of  its  Eng- 
lish aspect  the  lines, 

*•  I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much. 
Loved  I  not  honor  more." 

Or  the  address  of  the  Commonwealth's  man  to  his  wife, 
as  she  looked  out  from  the  Tower  window  to  see  him,  for 
the  last  time,  on  his  way  to  the  scaffold.  He  stood  up  in 
the  cart,  waved  his  hat,  and  cried,  ''  To  Heaven,  my 
love,  to  Heaven,  and  leave  you  in  the  storm  !  " 

Such  was  the  love  of  faith  and  honor,  —  a  love  which 
stopped,  like  Colonel  Hutchinson's,  "on  this  side  idol- 
atry," because  it  was  religious.  The  meeting  of  two 
such  souls  Donne  describes  as  giving  birth  to  an  '•  abler 
soul." 

Lord  Herbert  wrote  to  his  love, 

*'  Were  not  our  souls  immortal  made, 
Our  equal  loves  can  make  them  such." 


-^.     \ 


DO  WOMAN    IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

In  the  "Broken  Heart,"  of  Ford,  Penthea,  a  charac- 
ter which  engages  my  admiration  even  more  deeply  than 
the  famous  one  of  Calanthe,  is  made  to  present  to  the 
mind  the  most  beautiful  picture  of  what  these  relations 
should  be  m  their  purity.  Her  life  cannot  sustain  the 
violation  of  what  she  so  clearly  feels. 

Shakspeare,  too,  saw  that,  in  true  love,  as  in  fire,  the 
utmost  ardor  is  coincident  with  the  utmost  purity.  It 
is  a  true  lover  that  exclaims  in  the  agony  of  Othello, 

"  If  thou  art  false,  0  then  Heaven  mocks  itself !  '* 

The  son,  framed,  like  Hamlet,  to  appreciate  truth  in  all 
the  beauty  of  relations,  sinks  into  deep  melancholy 
when  he  finds  his  natural  expectations  disappointed.  He 
has  no  other.  She  to  whom  he  gave  the  name,  disgraces 
from  his  heart's  shrine  all  the  sex. 

"  Frailty,  thy  name  is  Woman." 

It  is  because  a  Hamlet  could  find  cause  to  say  so,  that 
I  have  put  the  line,  whose  stigma  has^  never  been 
removed,  at  the  head  of  my  work.  But,  as  a  lover, 
surely  Hamlet  would  not  have  so  far  mistaken,  as  to  have 
finished  with  such  a  conviction.  He  would  have  felt  the 
faith  of  Othello,  and  that  faith  could  not,  in  his  more 
dispassionate  mind,  have  been  disturbed  by  calumny. 

In  Spain,  this  thought  is  arrayed  in  a  sublimity  which 
belongs  to  the  sombre  and  passionate  genius  of  the 
nation.  Calderon's  Justina  resists  all  the  temptation  of 
the  Demon,  and  raises  her  lover,  with  her,  above  the 
sweet  lures  of  mere  temporal  happiness.     Their  mar- 


/ 


LORD   HERBERT.  69 

riage  is  vowed  at  the  stake ;  their  souls  are  liberated 
together  by  the  martyr  flame  into  "a  purer  state  of  sen- 
sation and  existence." 

In  Italy,  the  great  poets  wove  into  their  lives  an  ideal 
love  which  answered  to  the  highest  wants.  It  included 
those  of  the  intellect  and  the  affections,  for  it  was  a  love 
of  spirit  for  spirit.  It  was  not  ascetic,  or  superhuman, 
but,  interpreting  all  things,  gave  their  proper  beauty  to 
details  of  the  common  life,  the  common  day.  The  poet 
spoke  of  his  love,  not  as  a  flower  to  place  in  his  bosom, 
or  hold  carelessly  in  his  hand,  but  as  a  light  toward 
which  he  must  find  wings  to  fly,  or  "  a  stair  to  heaven." 
He  delighted  to  speak  of  her,  not  only  as  the  bride  of 
his  heart,  but  the  mother  of  his  soul ;  for  he  saw  that,  in 
cases  where  the  right  direction  had  been  taken,  the 
greater  delicacy  of  her  frame  and  stillness  of  her  life 
left  her  more  open  than  is  Man  to  spiritual  influx.  So 
he  did  not  look  upon  her  as  betwixt  him  and  earth,  to 
serve  his  temporal  needs,  but,  rather,  betwixt  him  and 
heaven,  to  purify  his  affections  and  lead  him  to  wisdom 
through  love.  He  sought,  in  her,  not  so  much  the  Eve 
as  the  Madonna. 

In  these  minds  the  thought,  which  gleams  through  all 
the  legends  of  chivalry,  shines  in  broad  intellectual  efiul- 
gence,  not  to  be  misinterpreted ;  and  their  thought  is  rev- 
erenced by  the  world,  though  it  lies  far  from  the  practice 
of  the  world  as  yet,  —  so  far  that  it  seems  as  though  a 
gulf  of  death  yawned  between. 

Even  with  such  men  the  practice  was,  often,  widely 
different  from  the  mental  faith.     I  say  mental ;  for  if  the 


70  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

heart  were  thoroughly  alive  with  it,  the  practice  could 
not  be  dissonant.  Lord  Herbert's  was  a  marriage  of  con- 
vention, made  for  him  at  fifteen ;  he  was  not  discontented 
with  it,  but  looked  only  to  the  advantages  it  brought  of 
perpetuating  his  family  on  the  basis  of  a  great  fortune. 
He  paid,  in  act,  what  he  considered  a  dutiful  attention  to 
the  bond;  his  thoughts  travelled  elsewhere;  and  while 
forming  a  high  ideal  of  the  companionship  of  minds  in 
marriage,  he  seems  never  to  have  doubted  that  its  realiz- 
ation must  be  postponed  to  some  other  state  of  being. 
Dante,  almost  immediately  after  the  death  of  Beatrice, 
married  a  lady  chosen  for  him  by  his  friends,  and  Boc- 
caccio, in  describing  the  miseries  that  attended,  in  this 
case,  • 

•'  The  form  of  an  union  where  union  is  none," 

speaks  as  if  these  were  inevitable  to  the  connection,  and 
as  if  the  scholar  and  poet,  especially,  could  expect  noth- 
ing but  misery  and  obstruction  in  a  domestic  partnership 
with  Woman. 

Centuries  have  passed  since,  but  civilized  Europe  is 
still  in  a  transition  state  about  marriage ;  not  only  in 
practice  but  in  thought.  It  is  idle  to  speak  with  con- 
tempt of  the  nations  where  polygamy  is  an  institution,  or 
seraglios  a  custom,  while  practices  far  more  debasing 
haunt,  well-nigh  fill,  every  city  and  every  town,  and  so 
far  as  union  of  one  with  one  is  believed  to  be  the  only 
pure  form  of  marriage,  a  great  majority  of  societies  and 
individuals  are  still  doubtful  whether  the  earthly  bond 
must  be  a  meeting  of  souls,  or  only  supposes  a  contract 
of  convenience  and  utility.     Were  Woman  established  in 


WOMAN   CAPABLE   OF   FRIENDSHIP.  71 

the  rights  of  an  immortal  being,  this  could  not  be.  She 
■would  not,  in  some  countries,  be  given  away  by  her 
father,  with  scarcely  more  respect  for  her  feelings  than  is 
shown  by  the  Indian  chief,  who  sells  his  daughter  for  a 
horse,  and  beats  her  if  she  runs  away  from  her  new 
home.  Nor,  in  societies  where  her  choice  is  left  free, 
would  she  be  perverted,  by  the  current  of  opinion  that 
seizes  her,  into  the  belief  that  she  must  many,  if  it  be 
only  to  find  a  protector,  and  a  home  of  her  own. 
Neither  would  Man,  if  he  thought  the  connection  of 
permanent  importance,  form  it  so  lightly.  He  would  not 
deem  it  a  trifle,  that  he  was  to  enter  into  the  closest 
relations  with  another  soul,  which,  if  not  eternal  in 
thems^ves,  must  eternally  affect  his  growth.  Neither, 
did  he  believe  Woman  capable  of  friendship,*  would 
he,  by  rash  haste,  lose  the  chance  of  finding  a  friend 
in  the  person  who  might,  probably,  live  half  a  cen- 
tury by  his  side.  Did  love,  to  his  mind,  stretch  forth 
into  infinity,  he  would  not  miss  his  chance  of  its  revela- 
tions, that  he  might  the  sooner  rest  from  his  weariness 
by  a  bright  fireside,  and  secure  a  sweet  and  graceful 
attendant  "  devoted  to  him  alone."  Were  he  a  step 
higher,  he  would  not  carelessly  enter  into  a  relation 
where  he  might  not  be  able  to  do  the  duty  of  a  friend, 
as  well  as  a  protector  from  external  ill,  to  the  other 
party,  and  have  a  being  in  his  power  pining  for  sym- 
pathy, intelligence  and  aid,  that  he  could  not  give. 

What  deep  communion,  what  real  intercourse  is  im- 

*  See  Appendix  D,  Spinoza's  view. 


72  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH    CENTURY. 

plied  in  sharing  the  joys  and  cares  of  parentage,  when 
any  degree  of  equality  is  admitted  between  the  par- 
ties !  It  is  true  that,  in  a  majority  of  instances,  the  man 
looks  upon  his  wife  as  an  adopted  child,  and  places  her 
to  the  other  children  in  the  relation  of  nurse  or  govern- 
ess, rather  than  that  of  parent.  Her  influence  with  them 
is  sure ;  but  she  misses  the  education  which  should 
enlighten  that  influence,  by  being  thus  treated.  It  is 
the  order  of  nature  that  children  should  complete  the 
education,  moral  and  mental,  of  parents,  by  making  them 
think  what  is  needed  for  the  best  culture  of  human 
beings,  and  conquer  all  faults  and  impulses  that  inter- 
fere with  their  giving  this  to  these  dear  objects,  who  rep- 
resent the  world  to  them.  Father  and  mother  should 
assist  one  another  to  learn  what  is  required  for  this  sub- 
lime priesthood  of  Nature.*  But,  for  this,  a  religious 
recognition  of  equality  is  required. 

Where  this  thought  of  equality  begins  to  diff'use  itself, 
it  is  shown  in  four  ways. 

First ;  —  The  household  partnership.  In  our  coun- 
try, the  woman  looks  for  a  " smart  but  kind  "  husband; 
the  man  for  a  "  capable,  sweet-tempered  "  wife.  The 
man  furnishes  the  house;  the  woman  regulates  it. 
Their  relation  is  one  of  mutual  esteem,  mutual  depend- 
ence. Their  talk  is  of  business;  their  afiection  shows 
itself  by  practical  kindness.  They  know  that  life  goes 
more  smoothly  and  cheerfully  to  each  for  the  other's  aid ; 
they  are  grateful  and  content.  The  wife  praises  her  hus- 
band as  a  "  good  provider  ;  "  the  husband,  in  return,  com- 


MADAME   ROLAND.  7S 

pliments  her  as  a  "  capital  housekeeper."  This  relation 
is  good  so  far  as  it  goes. 

Next  comes  a  closer  tie,  which  takes  the  form  either  of 
mutual  idolatry  or  of  intellectual  companionship.  The 
first,  we  suppose,  is  to  no  one  a  pleasing  subject  of  con- 
templation. The  parties  weaken  and  narrow  one  another ; 
they  lock  the  gate  against  all  the  glories  of  the  universe, 
that  thej  may  live  in  a  cell  together.  To  themselves 
they  seem  the  only  wise  ;  to  all  others,  steeped  in  infatu- 
ation ;  the  gods  smile  as  they  look  forward  to  the  crisis 
of  cure ;  to  men,  the  woman  seems  an  unlovely  syren  ;  to 
women,  the  man  an  effeminate  boy. 

The  other  form,  of  intellectual  companionship,-  has 
become  more  and  more  frequent.  Men  engaged  in  pub- 
lic life,  literary  men,  and  artists,  have  often  found  in 
their  wives  companions  and  confidants  in  thought  no  less 
than  in  feeling.  And,  as  the  intellectual  development  of 
Woman  has  spread  wider  and  risen  higher,  they  have, 
not  unfrequently^  shared  the .  same  employment ;  as  in 
the  case  of  Roland  and  his  wife,  who  were  friends  in  the 
household  and  ^n  the  nation's  councils,  read,  regulated 
home  affairs,  or  prepared  public  documents  together, 
indifferently.  It  is  very  pleasant,  in  letters  begun  by 
Roland  and  finished  by  his  wife,  to  see  the  harmony  of 
mind,  and  the  difference  of  nature ;  one  thought,  but 
various  ways  of  treating  it. 

This  is  one  of  the  best  instances  of  a  marriage  of 

friendship.      It  was   only   friendship^  whose  basis  was 

esteem ;  probably  neither  party   knew  love,   except  by 

name.     Roland  was  a  good  man,  worthy  to  esteem,  and  be 

7 


74     WOMAN  IN  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY. 

esteemed  ;  his  wife  as  deserving  of  adiLiration  as  able  to 
do  without  it. 

Madame  Roland  is  the  fairest  specimen  we  yet  have  of 
her  class  ;  as  clear  to  discern  her  aim,  as  valiant  to  pur- 
sue it,  as  Spenser's  Britomart ;  austerely  set  apart  from 
all  that  did  not  belong  to  her,  whether  as  Woman  or  as 
mind.  She  is  an  antetype  of  a  class  to  which  the  coming 
time  will  afford  a  field  —  the  Spartan  matron,  brought  by 
the  culture  of  the  age  of  books  to  intellectual  consciousness 
and  expansion.  Self-sufficingness,  strength,  and  clear- 
sightedness were,  in  her,  combined  with  a  power  of  deep 
and  calm  affection.  She,  too,  would  have  given  a  son  or 
husband  the  device  for  his  shield,  "  Return  with  it  or  upon 
it ; "  and  this,  not  because  she  loved  little,  but  much. 
The  page  of  her  life  is  one  of  unsullied  dignity.  Her 
appeal  to  posterity  is  one  against  the  injustice  of  those 
who  committed  such  crimes  in  the  name  of  Liberty. 
She  makes  it  in  behalf  of  herself  and  her  husband.  I 
would  put  beside  it,  on  the  shelf,  a  little  volume,  contain- 
ing a  similar  appeal  from  the  verdict  of  contemporaries  to 
that  of  mankind,  made  by  Godwin  in  behalf  of  his  wife, 
the  celebrated,  the  by  most  men  detested,  Mary  Wol- 
stonecraft.  In  his  view,  it  was  an  appeal  from  the  injus- 
tice of  those  who  did  such  wrong  in  the  name  of  virtue. 
Were  this  little  book  interesting  for  no  other  cause,  it 
would  be  so  for  the  generous  affection  evinced  under  the 
peculiar  circumstances.  This  man  had  courage  to  love 
and  honor  this  woman  in  the  face  of  the  world's  sentence, 
and  of  all  that  was  repulsive  in  her  own  past  history. 
He  believed  he  saw  of  what  soul  she  was,  and  that  the 


GEORGE   SAND.  75 

impulses  she  had  struggled  to  act  out  were  noble,  though 
the  opinions  to  which  they  had  led  might  not  be  thor- 
oughly weighed.  He  loved  her,  and  he  defended  her  for 
the  meaning  and  tendency  of  her  inner  life.  It  was  a 
good  fact. 

Mary  Wolstonecraft,  like  Madame  Dudevant  (com- 
monly known  as  George  Sand)  in  our  day,  was  a  woman 
whose  existence  better  proved  the  need  of  some  new 
interpretation  of  Woman's  Rights  than  anything  *she 
wrote.  Such  beings  as  these,  rich  in  genius,  of  most 
tender  sympathies,  capable  of  high  virtue  and  a  chastened 
harmony,  ought  not  to  find  themselves,  by  birth,  in  a 
place  so  narrow,  that,  in  breaking  bonds,  they  become 
outlaws.  Were  there  as  much  room  in  the  world  for 
such,  as  in  Spenser's  poem  for  Britomart,  they  would  not 
run  their  heads  so  wildly  against  the  walls,  but  prize 
their  shelter  rather.  They  find  their  way,  at  last,  to 
light  and  air,  but  the  world  will  not  take  off  the  brand  it 
has  set  upon  them.  The  champion  of  the  Rights  of 
Woman  found,  in  Godwin,  one  who  would  plead  that 
cause  like  a  brother.  He  who  delineated  with  such  pur- 
ity of  traits  the  form  of  Woman  in  the  Marguerite,  of 
whom  the  weak  St.  Leon  could  never  learn  to  be  worthy, 
—  a  pearl  indeed  whose  price  was  above  rubies,  —  was  not 
false  in  life  to  the  faith  by  which  he  had  hallowed  his 
romance.  He  acted,  as  he  wrote,  like  a  brother.  This  form 
of  appeal  rarely  fails  to  touch  the  basest  man  :  —  '•  Are 
you  acting  toward  other  women  in  the  way  you  would  have 
men  act  towards  your  sister?  "  George  Sand  smokes,  wears 
male  attire,  wishes  to  be  addressed  as  "  Mon  frere  ;  "  — 


76   .         WOMAN   m   THE   NINETEENTH    CENTURY. 

perhaps,  if  she  found  those  who  were  as  brothers  indeed, 
she  would  not  care  whether  she  were  brother  or  sister.  =* 
We  rejoice  to  see  that  she,  who  expresses  such  a  pain- 
ful CDntempt  for  men  in  most  of  her  works,  as  shows  she 
must  have  known  great  wrong  from  them,  depicts,  in  "La 
Roche  Mauprat,"  a  man  raised  by  the  workings  of  love 
from  the  depths  of  savage  sensualism  to  a  moral  and  in- 
tellectual life.  It  was  love  for  a  pure  object,  for  a  stead- 
fast woman,  one  of  those  who,  the  Italian  said,  could 
make  the  "  stair  to  heaven." 

This  author,  beginning  like  the  many  in  assault  upon 
bad  institutions,  and  external  ills,  yet  deepening  the 
experience  through  comparative  freedom,  sees  at  last 
that  the  only  efficient  remedy  must  come  from  individual 
character.  These  bad  institutions,  indeed,  it  may  always 
be  replied,  prevent  individuals  from  forming  good  char- 
acter, therefore  we  must  remove  them.  Agreed;  yet 
keep  steadily  the  higher  aim  in  view.  Could  you  clear 
away  all  the  bad  forms  of  society,  it  is  vain,  unless  the 
individual  begin  to  be  ready  for  better.  There  must  be 
a  parallel  movement  in  these  two  branches  of  life.  And 
all  the  rules  left  by  Moses  availed  less  to  further  the  best 
life  than  the  living  example  of  one  Messiah. 

Still  the  mind  of  the  age  struggles  confusedly  with 
these  problems,  better  discerning  as  yet  the  ill  it  can 
no  longer  bear,  than  the  good  by  which  it  may  super- 

*  A  note  appended  by  my  sister  in  this  place,  in  the  first  edition ,  is 
here  omitted,  because  it  is  incorporated  in  another  article  in  this  \ol- 
ume,  treating  of  fleorge  Sand  more  at  length.  —  [Ed.] 


GEORGE   SAND.  77 

sede  it.  But  women  like  Sand  will  speak  now  and  can- 
not be  silenced;  their  characters  and  their  eloquence 
alike  foretell  an  era  when  such  as  they  shall  easier  learn 
to  lead  true  lives.  But  though  such  forebode,  not  such 
shall  be  parents  of  it.*  Those  who  would  reform  the 
world  must  show  that  they  do  not  speak  in  the  heat  of 
wild  impulse ;  their  lives  must  be  unstained  by  pas- 
sionate error ;  they  must  be  severe  lawgivers  to  them- 
selves. They  must  be  religious  students  of  the  divine 
purpose  with  regard  to  man,  if  they  would  not  confound 
the  fancies  of  a  day  with  the  requisitions  of  eternal  good. 
Their  liberty  must  be  the  liberty  of  law  and  knowledge. 
But  as  to  the  transgressions  aorainst  custom  which  have 
caused  such  outcry  against  those  of  noble  intention,  it 
may  be  observed  that  the  resolve  of  Eloisa  to  be  only  the 
mistress  of  Abelard,  was  that  of  one  who  saw  in  practice 
around  her  the  contract  of  marriage  made  the  seal  of 
degradation.  Shelley  feared  not  to  be  fettered,  unless  so 
to  be  was  ■  to  be  false.  Wherever  abuses  are  seen,  the 
timid  will  suffer  ;  the  bold  will  protest.  But  society  has 
a  right  to  outlaw  them  till  she  has  revised  her  law  ;  and 
this  she  must  be  taught  to  do,  by  one  who  speaks  with 
authority,  not  in  anger  or  haste. 

If  Godwin's  choice  of  the  calumniated  authoress  of  the 
"  Rights  of  Woman,"  for  his  honored  wife,  be  a  sign  of 
a  new  era,  no  less  so  is  an  article  to  which  I  have  alluded 
some  pages  back,  published  five  or  six  years  ago  in  one 
of  the  English  Reviews,  where  the  writer,  in  doing  full 
justice  to  Eloisa,  shows  his  bitter  regret  that  she  lives  not 

♦Appendix  E. 

7* 


78     WOMAN  IN  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTUBT. 

now  to  love  him,  who  might  have  known  better  how  to 
prize  her  love  than  did  the  egotistical  Abelard. 

These  marriages,  these  characters,  with  all  their  im- 
perfections, express  an  onward  tendency.  They  speak 
of  aspiration  of  soul,  of  energy  of  mind,  seeking  clear- 
ness and  freedom.  Of  a  like  promise  are  the  tracts  lately 
published  by  Goodwyn  Barmby  (the  European  Pariah, 
as  he  calls  himself)  and  his  wife  Catharine.  Whatever 
we  may  think  of  their  measures,  we  see  in  them  wed- 
lock ;  the  two  minds  are  wed  by  the  only  contract  that 
can  permanently  avail,  that  of  a  common  faith  and  a 
common  purpose. 

We  might  mention  instances,  nearer  home,  of  minds, 
partners  in  work  and  in  life,  sharing  together,  on  equal 
terms,  public  and  private  interests,  and  which  wear  not, 
on  any  side,  the  aspect  of  offence  shown  by  those  last- 
named  :  persons  who  steer  straight  onward,  yet,  in  our 
comparatively  free  life,  have  not  been  obliged  to  run  their 
heads  against  any  wall.  But  the  principles  which  guide 
them  might,  under  petrified  and  oppressive  institutions, 
have  made  them  warlike,  paradoxical,  and,  in  some  sense, 
Pariahs.  The  phenomena  are  different,  the  law  is  the 
same,  in  all  these  cases.  Men  and  women  have  been 
obliged  to  build  up  their  house  anew  from  the  very  foun- 
dation. If  they  found  stone  ready  in  the  quarry,  they 
took  it  peaceably ;  otherwise  they  alarmed  the  country 
by  pulling  down  old  towers  to  get  materials, 
p-— 'These  are  all  instances  of  marriage  as  intellectual 
companionship.  The  parties  meet  mind  to  mind,  and  a 
mutual  trust  is  produced,  which  can  buckler  them  against 


WILLIAM   AND   MARY   HOWITT.  79 

a  million.  They  work  together  for  a  common  purpose, 
and,  in  all  these  instances,  with  the  same  implement,  — 
the  pen.  The  pen  and  the  writing-desk  furnish  forth  as 
naturally  the  retirement  of  Woman  as  of  Man. 

A  pleasing  expression,  in  this  kind,  is  afforded  by  the 
union  in  the  names  of  the  Howitts.  William  and  Mary 
Howitt  we  heard  named  together  for  years,  supposing 
them  to  be  brother  and  sister ;  the  equality  of  labors  and 
reputation,  even  so,  was  auspicious  ;  more  so,  now  we  find 
them  man  and  wife.  In  his  late  work  on  Germany, 
Howitt  mentions  his  wife,  with  pride,  as  one  among  the 
constellation  of  distinguished  English-women,  and  in  a 
graceful,  simple  manner.  And  still  we  contemplate  with 
pleasure  the  partnership  in  literature  and  affection  be- 
tween the  Howitts, —  the  congenial  pursuits  and  produc- 
tions—  the  pedestrian  tours  wherein  the  married  pair 
showed  that  marriage,  on  a  wide  enough  basis,  does  not 
destroy  the  "inexhaustible"  entertainment  which  lovers 
find  in  one  another's  company. 

In  naming  these  instances,  I  do  not  mean  to  imply 
that  community  of  employment  is  essential  to  the  union 
of  husband  and  wife,  more  than  to  the  union  of  friends. 
Harmony  exists  in  difference,  no  less  than  in  likeness,  if 
only  the  same  key-note  govern  both  parts.  Woman  the 
poem,  Man  the  poet !  Woman  the  heart,  Man  the  head ! 
Such  .divisions  are  only  important  when  they  are  never 
to  be  transcended.  If  nature  is  never  bound  down,  nor 
the  voice  of  inspiration  stifled,  that  is  enough.  We  are 
pleased  that  women  should  write  and  speak,  if  they  feel 
need  of  it,  from  having  something  to  tell ;  but  silence  for 


80  WOMAN  IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

ages  would  be  no  misfortune,  if  that  silence   be  from 
divine  command,  and  not  from  Man's  tradition. 

While  Goetz  Von  Berlichingen  rides  to  battle,  his  wife 
is  busy  in  the  kitchen ;  but  difference  of  occupation  does 
not  prevent  that  community  of  inward  life,  that  perfect 
esteem,  with  which  he  says, 

"  Whom  God  loves,  to  him  gives  he  such  a  wife.'* 

Manzoni  thus  dedicates  his  '' Adelchi." 

^'  To  his  beloved  and  venerated  wife,  Enrichetta  Luigia 
Blondel,  who,  with  conjugal  affection  and  maternal  wis- 
dom, has  preserved  a  virgin  mind,  the  author  dedicates 
this  '  Adelchi,'  grieving  that  he  could  not,  by  a  more 
splendid  and  more  durable  monument,  honor  the  dear 
name,  and  the  memory  of  so  many  virtues." 

The  relation  could  not  be  fairer,  nor  more  equal,  if  she, 
too,  had  written  poems.  Yet  the  position  of  the  parties 
might  have  been  the  reverse  as  well ;  the  Woman  might 
have  sung  the  deeds,  given  voice  to  the  life  of  the  Man, 
and  beauty  would  have  been  the  result ;  as  we  see,  in  pic- 
tures of  Arcadia,  the  nymph  singing  to  the  shepherds,  or 
the  shepherd,  with  his  pipe,  alluring  the  nymphs ;  either 
makes  a  good  picture.  The  sounding  lyre  requires  not 
muscular  strength,  but  energy  of  soul  to  animate  the 
hand  which  would  control  it.  Nature  seems  to  delight 
in  varying  the  arrangements,  as  if  to  show  that  she  will 
be  fettered  by  no  rule ;  and  we  must  admit  the  same  varie- 
ties that  she  admits. 

The  fourth  and  highest  grade  of  marriage  union  is  the 
religious,  which  may  be  expressed  as  pilgrimage  toward 


HIGHEST   GRADE   OF  UNIOIT.  81 

a  con  mon  shrine.  This  includes  the  others :  home  sym- 
pathies and  household  wisdom,  for  these  pilgrims  must 
know  how  to  assist  each  other  along  the  dusty  way ; 
intellectual  communion,  for  how  sad  it  would  be  on  such 
a  journey  to  have  a  companion  to  whom  you  could  not 
communicate  your  thoughts  and  aspirations  as  they 
sprang  to  life ;  who  would  have  no  feeling  for  the  pros- 
pects that  open,  more  and  more  glorious  as  we  advance  ; 
who  would  never  see  the  flowers  that  may  be  gathered  by 
the  most  industrious  traveller  !    It  must  include  all  these. 

Such  a  fellow-pilgrim  Count  Zinzendorf  seems  to  have 
found  in  his  countess,  of  whom  he  thus  writes : 

''Twenty-five  years'  experience  has  shown  me  that 
just  the  help-meet  whom  I  have  is  the  only  one  that  could 
suit  my  vocation.  Who  else  could  have  so  carried 
through  my  family  afiairs?  Who  lived  so  spotlessly 
before  the  world  ?  Who  so  wisely  aided  me  in  my  rejec- 
tion of  a  dry  morality?  Who  so  clearly  set  aside  the 
Pharisaism  which,  as  years  passed,  threatened  to  creep 
in  among  us  ?  Who  so  deeply  discerned  as  to  the  spirits 
of  delusion  which  sought  to  bewilder  us  ?  Who  would 
have  governed  my  whole  economy  so  wisely,  richly  and 
hospitably,  when  circumstances  commanded  ?  Who  have 
taken  indifferently  the  part  of  servant  or  mistress,  with- 
out, on  the  one  side,  affecting  an  especial  spirituality ;  on 
the  other,  being  sullied  by  any  worldly  pride  ?  Who,  in 
a  community  where  all  ranks  are  eager  to  be  on  a  level, 
would,  from  wise  and  real  causes,  have  known  how 
to  mail  tain  inward  and  outward  distinctions?  Who, 
without  a  murmur,    have  seen  her  husband  encounter 


82  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

such  dangers  by  land  and  sea?  Who  undertaken  with 
him,  and  sustained^  such  astonishing  pilgrimages? 
Who,  amid  such  difficulties,  would  have  always  held  up 
her  head  and  supported  me?  Who  found  such  vast 
sums  of  money,  and  acquitted  them  on  her  own  credit  ? 
And,  finally,  who,  of  all  human  beings,  could  so  well 
understand  and  interpret  to  others  my  inner  and  outer 
being  as  this  one,  of  such  nobleness  in  her  way  of  think- 
ing, such  great  intellectual  capacity,  and  so  free  from  the 
theological  perplexities  that  enveloped  me  !  " 

Let  any  one  peruse,  with  all  intentness,  the  linea- 
ments of  this  portrait,  and  see  if  the  husband  had  not 
reason,  with  this  air  of  solemn  rapture  and  conviction,  to 
challenge  comparison  ?  We  are  reminded  of  the  majestic 
cadence  of  the  line  whose  feet  step  in  the  just  proportion 
of  Humanity, 

*'  Daughter  of  God  and  Man,  accomplished  Eve  !  " 

An  observer*  adds  this  testimony : 

"  We  may,  in  many  marriages,  regard  it  as  the  best 
arrangement,  if  the  man  has  so  much  advantage  over  his 
wife,  that  she  can,  without  much  thought  of  her  own,  be 
led  and  directed  by  him  as  by  a  father.  But  it  was  not 
so  with  the  count  and  his  consort.  She  was  not  made  to 
be  a  copy ;  she  was  an  original ;  and,  while  she  loved  and 
honored  him,  she  thought  for  herself,  on  all  subjects, 
with  so  much  intelligence,  that  he  could  and  did  look  on 
her  as  a  sister  and  friend  also." 

Compare  with  this  refined  specimen  of  a  religiously 

*  Spangenberg. 


THE   FLYING   PIGEON.  83 

civilized  life  the  following  imperfect  sketch  of  a  North 
American  Indian,  and  we  shall  see  that  the  same  causes 
will  always  produce  the  same  results.  The  Flying 
Pigeon  (Ratchewaine)  was  the  wife  of  a  barbarous  chief, 
who  had  six  others ;  but  she  was  his  only  true  wife, 
because  the  only  one  of  a  strong  and  pure  character,  and, 
having  this,  inspired  a  veneration,  as  like  as  the  mind  of 
the  man  permitted  to  that  inspired  by  the  Countess  Zin- 
zendorf  She  died  when  her  son  was  only  four  years 
old,  yet  left  on  his  mind  a  feeling  of  reverent  love  worthy 
the  thought  of  Christian  chivalry.  Grown  to  manhood, 
he  shed  tears  on  seeing  her  portrait. 

THE    FLYING  PIGEON. 

"  Ratchewaine  was  chaste,  mild,  gentle  in  her  disposi- 
tion, kind,  generous,  and  devoted  to  her  husband.  A 
harsh  word  was  never  known  to  proceed  from  her  mouth ; 
nor  was  she  ever  known  to  be  in  a  passion.  Mahaskah 
used  to  say  of  her,  after  her  death,  that  her  hand  was 
shut  when  those  who  did  not  want  came  into  her  pres- 
ence ;  but  when  the  really  poor  came  in,  it  was  like  a 
strainer  full  of  holes,  letting  all  she  held  in  it  pass 
through.  In  the  exercise  of  generous  feeling  she  was 
uniform.  It  was  not  indebted  for  its  exercise  to  whim, 
nor  caprice,  nor  partiality.  No  matter  of  what  nation 
the  applicant  for  her  bounty  was,  or  whether  at  war  ^r 
peace  with  her  nation ;  if  he  w^ere  hungry,  she  fed  him ; 
if  naked,  she  clothed  him;  and,  if  houseless,  she  gave 
him  shelter.  The  continued  exercise  of  this  generous 
feeling  kept  her  poor.     And  she  has  been  known  to  give 


SI  WOMAN    IN    THE    NINETEENTH    CENTURY. 

awaj  her  last  blanket  —  all  the  honey  that  was  in  the 
lodge,  the  last  bladder  of  bear's  oil,  and  the  last  piece  of 
di'ied  meat. 

•'  She  was  scrupulously  exact  in  the  observance  of  all 
the  religious  rites  which  her  faith  imposed  upon  her. 
Her  conscience  is  represented  to  have  been  extremely 
tender.  She  often  feared  that  her  acts  were  displeasing 
to  the  Great  Spirit,  when  she  would  blacken  her  face, 
and  retire  to  some  lone  place,  and  fast  and  pray." 

To  these  traits  should  be  added,  but  for  want  of  room, 
anecdotes  which  show  the  quick  decision  and  vivacity  of 
her  mind.  Her  face  was  in  harmony  with  this  combina- 
tion. Her  brow  is  as  ideal  and  the  eyes  and  lids  as 
devout  and  modest  as  the  Italian  picture  of  the  Madonna, 
while  the  lower  part  of  the  face  has  the  simplicity  and 
childish  strength  of  the  Indian  race.  Her  picture  presents 
the  finest  specimen  of  Indian  beauty  we  have  ever  seen. 
Such  a  Woman  is  the  sister  and  friend  of  all  beincrs,  as 
the  worthy  Man  is  their  brother  and  helper. 

With  like  pleasure  we  survey  the  pairs  wedded  on  the 
eve  of  missionary  efibrt.  They,  indeed,  are  fellow-pil- 
grims on  the  well-made  road,  and  whether  or  no  they 
accomplish  all  they  hope  for  the  sad  Hindoo,  or  the 
nearer  savage,  we  feel  that  in  the  burning  waste  their 
love  is  like  to  be  a  healing  dew,  in  the  forlorn  jungle  a 
tent  of  solace  to  one  another.  They  meet,  as  children 
of  one  Father,  to  read  together  one  book  of  instruction. 

We  must  insert  in  this  connection  the  most  beautiful 
picture  presented  by  ancient  literature  of  wedded  love 
under  this  noble  form. 


PANTHBA.  85 

It  is  from  the  romance  in  which  Xenophon,  the  chival- 
rous Greek,  presents  his  ideal  of  what  human  nature 
should  be. 

The  generals  of  Cjrus  had  taken  captive  a  princess,  a 
woman  of  unequalled  beaut  j,  and  hastened  to  present  her 
to  the  prince  as  that  part  of  the  spoil  he  would  think 
most  worthy  of  his  acceptance.  Cyrus  visits  the  lady, 
and  is  filled  with  immediate  admiration  by  the  modesty 
and  majesty  with  which  she  receives  him.  He  finds 
her  name  is  Panthea,  and  that  she  is  the  wife  of  Abra- 
datus,  a  young  king  whom  she  entkely  loves.  He  protects 
her  as  a  sister,  in  his  camp,  till  he  can  restore  her  to  her 
husband. 

After  the  first  transports  of  joy  at  this  reunion,  the 
heart  of  Panthea  is  bent  on  showing  her  love  and  grati- 
tude to  her  magnanimous  and  delicate  protector.  And 
as  she  has  nothing  so  precious  to  give  as  the  aid  of  Ab- 
radatus,  that  is  what  she  most  wishes  to  ofier.  Her  hus- 
band is  of  one  soul  with  her  in  this,  as  in  all  things. 

The  description  of  her  grief  and  self-destruction,  after 
the  death  which  ensued  upon  this  devotion,  I  have  seen 
quoted,  but  never  that  of  their  parting  when  she  sends 
him  forth  to  battle.  I  shall  copy  both.  K  they  have 
been  read  by  any  of  my  readers,  they  may  be  so  again 
with  profit  in  this  connection,  for  never  were  the  heroism 
of  a  true  Woman,  and  the  purity  of  love  in  a  true  mar- 
riage, painted  in  colors  more  delicate  and  more  lively. 

"  The  chariot  of  Abradatus,  that  had  four  perches  and 
eight  horses,  was  completely  adorned  for  him ;  and  when 
he  was  going  to  put  on  his  linen  corslet,  which  was  a  sort 
8 


86  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

of  armor  used  by  those  of  his  country,  Panthea  brought 
him  a  golden  helmet,  and  arm-pieces,  broad  bracelets  for 
his  wrists,  a  purple  habit  that  reached  down  to  his  feet, 
and  hung  in  folds  at  the  bottom,  and  a  crest  dyed  of  a 
violet  color.  These  things  she  had  made,  unknown  to 
her  husband,  and  by  taking  the  measure  of  his  armor. 
He  wondered  when  he  saw  them,  and  inquired  thus  of 
Panthea  :  '  And  have  you  made  me  these  arms,  woman, 
by  destroying  your  own  ornaments  ?  '  '  No,  by  Jove  ! ' 
said  tanthea.,  '  not  what  is  the  most  valuable  of  them ; 
for  it  is  you,  if  you  appear  to  others  to  be  what  I  think 
you,  that  will  be  my  greatest  ornament.'  And,  saying, 
that,  she  put  on  him  the  armor,  and,  though  she  endeav- 
ored to  conceal  it,  the  tears  poured  down  her  cheeks. 
When  Abradatus,  who  was  before  a  man  of  fine  appear- 
ance, was  set  out  in  those  arms,  he  appeared  the  most 
beautiful  and  noble  of  all,  especially  being  likewise  so  by 
nature.  Then,  taking  the  reins  from  the  driver,  he  was 
just  preparing  to  mount  the  chariot,  when  Panthea,  after 
she  had  desired  all  that  were  there  to  retire,  thus  said : 

'^ '  0  Abradatus  !  if  ever  there  was  a  woman  who  had  a 
gi-eater  regard  to  her  husband  than  to  her  own  soul,  I 
believe  you  know  that  I  am  such  an  one ;  what  need  I 
therefore  speak  of  things  in  particular  ?  for  I  reckon  that 
my  actions  have  convinced  you  more  than  any  words  I 
can  now  use.  And  yet,  though  I  stand  thus  affected 
toward  you,  as  you  know  I  do,  I  swear,  by  this  friendship 
of  mine  and  yours,  that  I  certainly  would  rather  choose 
to  be  put  under  ground  jointly  with  you,  approving  your- 
self a  brave  man,  than  to  live  with  you  in  disgrace  and 


PANTHEA.  87 

shame ;  so  much  do  I  think  you  and  myself  worthy  of 
the  noblest  things.  Then  I  think  that  we  both  lie  under 
great  obligations  to  Cyrus,  that,  when  I  was  a  captive, 
and  chosen  out  for  himself,  he  thought  fit  to  treat  me 
neither  as  a  slave,  nor,  indeed,  as  a  woman  of  mean 
account,  but  he  took  and  kept  me  for  you,  as  if  I  were 
his  brother's  wife.  Besides,  when  Araspes,  who  was  my 
guard,  went  away  from  him,  I  promised  him,  that,  if  he 
would  allow  me  to  send  for  you,  you  would  come  to  him, 
and  approve  yourself  a  much  better  and  more  faithful 
friend  than  Araspes.' 

"  Thus  she  spoke ;  and  Abradatus,  being  struck  with 
admiration  at  her  discourse,  laying  his  hand  gently  on 
her  head,  and  lifting  up  his  eyes  to  heaven,  made  this 
prayer  :  '  Do  thou,  0  greatest  Jove  !  grant  me  to  appear 
a  husband  worthy  of  Panthea,  and  a  friend  worthy  of 
Cyrus,  who  has  done  us  so  much  honor  !  ' 

'•Having  said  this,  he  mounted  the  chariot  by  the  door 
of  the  driver's  seat :  and,  after  he  had  got  up,  when  the 
driver  shut  the  door,  Panthea,  who  had  now  no  other 
way  to  salute  him,  kissed  the  seat  of  the  chariot.  The 
chariot  tben  moved,  and  she,  unknown  to  him,  followed, 
till  Abradatus  turning  about,  and  seeing  her,  said  :  '  Take 
courage,  Panthea  !  Fare  you  happily  and  well,  and  now 
go  your  ways.'  On  this  her  women  and  servants  carried 
her  to  her  conveyance,  and,  laying  her  down,  concealed 
her  by  throAving  the  covering  of  a  tent  over  her.  The 
people,  though  Abradatus  and  his  chariot  made  a  noble 
spectacle,  were  not  able  to  look  at  him  till  Panthea  was 
gone." 


88  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

After  the  battle  — 

"  Cjrus  calling  to  some  of  his  servants,  '  Tell  me,  said 
he,  '  has  any  one  seen  Abradatus  ?  for  I  admire  that  he 
now  does  not  appear.'  One  replied,  '  My  sovereign,  it  is 
because  he  is  not  living,  but  died  in  the  battle  as  he  broke 
in  with  his  chariot  on  the  Egyptians.  All  the  rest,  ex- 
cept his  particular  companions,  they  say,  turned  off  when 
they  saw  the  Egyptians'  compact  body.  His  wife  is  now 
said  to  have  taken  up  his  dead  body,  to  have  placed  it 
in  the  carriage  that  she  herself  was  conveyed  in,  and  to 
have  brought  it  hither  to  some  place  on  the  river  Pactolus, 
and  her  servants  are  digging  a  grave  on  a  certain  eleva- 
tion. They  say  that  his  wife,  after  setting  him  out  with 
all  the  ornaments  she  has,  is  sitting  on  the  ground  with 
his  head  on  her  knees.'  Cyrus,  hearing  this,  gave  him- 
self a  blow  on  the  thigh,  mounted  his  horse  at  a  leap,  and, 
taking  with  him  a  thousand  horse,  rode  away  to  this  scene 
of  affliction  ;  but  gave  orders  to  Gadatas  and  Gobryas  to 
take  with  them  all  the  rich  ornaments  proper  for  a  friend 
and  an  excellent  man  deceased,  and  to  follow  after  him ; 
and  whoever  had  herds  of  cattle  with  him,  he  ordered 
them  to  take  both  oxen,  and  horses,  and  sheep  in  good 
number,  and  to  bring  them  away  to  the  place  where,  by 
inquiry,  they  should  find  him  to  be,  that  he  might  sacri- 
fice these  to  Abradatus. 

''  As  soon  as  he  saw  the  woman  sitting  on  the  ground, 
and  the  dead  body  there  lying,  he  shed  tears  at  the 
afflictinor  siojht,  and  said  :  '  Alas  !  thou  brave  and  faithful 
80ul,  hast  thou  left  us,  and  art  thou  gone  ? '  At  the 
same  time  he  took  him  by  the  right  hand,  and  the  hand 


PANTHEA.  89 

of  the  deceased  came  away,  for  it  had  been  cut  off  with  a 
sword  by  the  Egyptians.  He,  at  the  sight  of  this,  became 
yet  much  more  concerned  than  before.  The  woman 
shrieked  out  in  a  lamentable  manner,  and,  taking  the 
hand  from  Cyrus,  kissed  it,  fitted  it  to  its  proper  place 
again,  as  well  as  she  could,  and  said :  '  The  rest,  Cyrus, 
is  in  the  same  condition,  but  what  need  you  see  it? 
And  I  know  that  I  was  not  one  of  the  least  concerned  in 
these  his  sufferings,  and,  perhaps,  you  were  not  less  so ; 
for  I,  fool  that  I  was !  frequently  exhorted  him  to  behave 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  appear  a  friend  to  you,  worthy  of 
notice  ;  and  I  know  he  never  thought  of  what  he  himself 
should  suffer,  but  of  what  he  should  do  to  please  you. 
He  is  dead,  therefore,'  said  she,  '  without  reproach,  and  I, 
who  urged  him  on,  sit  here  alive.'  Cyrus,  shedding  tears 
for  some  time  in  silence,  then  spoke  :  — '  He  has  died, 
woman,  the  noblest  death ;  for  he  has  died  victorious  ! 
Do  you  adorn  him  with  these  things  that  I  furnish  you 
with.'  (Gobryas  and  Gadatas  were  then  come  up,  and 
had  brought  rich  ornaments  in  great  abundance  with 
them.)  '  Then,'  said  he,  '  be  assured  that  he  shall  not 
want  respect  and  honor  in  all  other  things  ;  but,  over 
and  above,  multitudes  shall  concur  in  raising  him  a 
monument  that  shall  be  worthy  of  us,  and  all  the  sacri- 
fices shall  be  made  him  that  are  proper  to  be  made  in 
honor  of  a  brave  man.  You  shall  not  be  left  destitute, 
but,  for  the  sake  of  your  modesty  and  every  other  virtue, 
I  will  pay  you  all  other  honors,  as  well  as  place  those 
about  you  who  will  conduct  you  wherever  you  please. 
Do  you  but  make  it  known  to  me  where  it  is  that  you 
8* 


90  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

desire  to  be  conveyed  to.'  And  Pantliea  replied  :  '  Be 
confident^  Cyrus,  I  will  not  conceal  from  you  to  whom 
it  is  that  I  desire  to  go.' 

"  He,  having  said  this,  went  away  with  great  pity  for 
her  that  she  should  have  lost  such  a  husband,  and  for 
the  man  that  he  should  have  left  such  a  wife  behind  him, 
never  to  see  her  more.  Panthea  then  gave  orders  for  her 
servants  to  retire,  '  till  such  time,'  said  she,  '  as  I  shall 
have  lamented  my  husband  as  I  please.'  Her  nurse  she 
bid  to  stay,  and  gave  orders  that,  when  she  was  dead, 
she  would  wrap  her  and  her  husband  up  in  one  mantle 
together.  The  nurse,  after  having  repeatedly  begged  her 
not  to  do  this,  and  meeting  with  no  success,  but  observing 
her  to  grow  angry,  sat  herself  down,  breaking  out  into 
tears.  She,  being  beforehand  provided  with  a  sword, 
killed  herself,  and,  laying  her  head  down  on  her  hus- 
band's breast,  she  died.  The  nurse  set  up  a  lamentable 
cry,  and  covered  them  both,  as  Panthea  had  directed. 

"  Cyrus,  as  soon  as  he  was  informed  of  what  the  woman 
had  done,  being  struck  with  it,  went  to  help  her  if  he 
could.  The  servants,  three  in  number,  seeing  what  had 
been  done,  drew  their  swords  and  killed  themselves,  as 
they  stood  at  the  place  where  she  had  ordered  them. 
And  the  monument  is  now  said  to  have  been  raised  by 
continuing  the  mound  on  to  the  servants  ;  and  on  a  pillar 
above,  they  say,  the  names  of  the  man  and  woman  were 
written  in  Syriac  letters. 

"  Below  were  three  pillars,  and  they  were  inscribed 
thus,  '  Of  the  servants.'  Cyrus,  when  he  came  to  this 
melancholy  scene,  was   struck  with    admiration  of  the 


PANTHEA.  91 

woman,  and,  having  lamented  over  her,  went  awaj.  He 
took  care,  as  was  proper,  that  all  the  funeral  rites  should 
be  paid  them  in  the  noblest  manner,  and  the  monument, 
thej  say,  was  raised  up  to  a  very  great  size." 


These  be  the  ancients,  who,  so  many  assert,  had  no 
idea  of  the  dignity  of  Woman,  or  of  marriage.  Such  love 
Xenophon  could  paint  as  subsisting  between  those  who 
after  death  ''  would  see  one  another  never  more."  Thou- 
sands of  years  have  passed  since,  and  with  the  reception 
of  the  Cross,  the  nations  assume  the  belief  that  those  who 
part  thus  may  meet  again  and  forever,  if  spiritually  fitted 
to  one  another,  as  Abradatus  and  Panthea  were,  and  yet 
do  we  see  such  marriages  among  them  ?  If  at  all,  how 
often? 

I  must  quote  two  more  short  passages  from  Xenophon, 
for  he  is  a  writer  who  pleases  me  well. 

Cyrus,  receiving  the  Armenians  whom  he  had  con- 
quered — 

"  '  Tigranes,'  said  he,  '  at  what  rate  would  you  pur- 
chase the  regaining  of  your  wife  ? '  Now  Tigranes 
happened  to  be  but  lately  married,  and  had  a  very  great 
love  for  his  wife."   (That  clause  perhaps  sounds  moder?i.) 

"  '  Cyrus,'  said  he,  '  I  would  ransom  her  at  the  ex- 
pense of  my  life.' 

'' '  Take  then  your  own  to  yourself,'  said  he.  *  *  * 

"  When  they  came  home,  one  talked  of  Cyrus'  wisdom, 
another  of  his  patience  and  resolution,  another  of  his 
mildness.  One  spoke  of  his  beauty  and  smallness  of  his 
person,   and,   on   that,  Tigranes  asked   his  wife,   'And 


92  WOMAN  IN  THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

do  you,  Armenian  dame,  think  Cjrus  handsome?' 
'Truly,'  said  she,  'I  did  not  look  at  him.'  'At 
whom,  then,  did  you  look?'  said  Tigranes.  'At  him 
who  said  that,  to  save  me  from  servitude,  he  would  ran- 
som me  at  the  expense  of  his  own  life.'  " 

From  the  Banquet.  — 

"Socrates,  who  observed  her  with  pleasure,  said,  'This 
young  girl  has  confirmed  me  in  the  opinion  I  have  had, 
for  a  long  time,  that  the  female  sex  are  nothing  inferior 
to  ours,  excepting  only  in  strength  of  body,  or,  perhaps, 
in  steadiness  of  judgment'  " 

In  the  Economics,  the  manner  in  which  the  husband 
gives  counsel  to  his  young  wife  presents  the  model  of 
politeness  and  refinement.  Xenophon  is  thoroughly  the 
gentleman ;  gentle  in  breeding  and  in  soul.  All  the  men 
he  describes  are  so,  while  the  shades  of  manner  are  dis- 
tinctly marked.  There  is  the  serene  dignity  of  Socrates, 
with  gleams  of  playfulness  thrown  across  its  cool,  religious 
shades,  the  princely  mildness  of  Cyrus,  and  the  more 
domestic  elegance  of  the  husband  in  the  Economics. 

There  is  no  way  that  men  sin  more  against  refinement, 
as  well  as  discretion,  than  in  their  conduct  toward  their 
wives.  Let  them  look  at  the  men  of  Xenophon.  Such 
would  know  how  to  give  counsel,  for  they  would  know  how 
to  receive  it.  They  would  feel  that  the  most  intimate 
relations  claimed  most,  not  least,  of  refined  courtesy. 
They  would  not  suppose  that  confidence  justified  careless- 
ness, nor  the  reality  of  affection  want  of  delicacy  in  the 
expression  of  it. 


THE  WIFE  INEVITABLY  INFLUENCES  THE  HUSBAND.    93 

Such  men  would  be  too  wise  to  hide  their  affairs  from 
the  wife,  and  then  expect  her  to  act  as  if  she  knew  them. 
Thej  would  know  that,  if  she  is  expected  to  face  calam- 
ity with  courage,  she  must  be  instructed  and  trusted 
in  prosperity,  or,  if  they  had  failed  in  wise  confidence, 
such  as  the  husband  shows  in  the  Economics,  they  would 
be  ashamed  of  anger  or  querulous  surprise  at  the  results 
that  naturally  follow. 

Such  men  would  not  be  exposed  to  the  bad  influence 
of  bad  wives ;  for  all  wives,  bad  or  good,  loved  or 
unloved,  inevitably  influence  their  husbands,  from  the 
power_their  position  not  merely  gives,  but  necessitates, 
of  coloring  evidence  and  infusing  feelings  in  hours  when 
the  — -jpatient,  shall  I  call  him  ?  —  is  off  his  guard. 
Those  who  understand  the  wife's  mind,  and  think  it  worth 
while  to  respect  her  springs  of  action,  know  better  where 
they  are.  But  to  the  bad  or  thoughtless  man,  who  lives 
carelessly  and  irreverently  so  near  another  mind,  the 
wrong  he  does  daily  back  upon  himself  recoils.  A  Cyrus, 
an  Abradatus,  knows  where  he  stands. 


But  to  return  to  the  thread  of  my  subject. 

Another  sign  of  the  times  is  furnished  by  the  triumphs 

of  Female  Authorship.     These  have  been  great,  and  are 

constantly  increasing.    Women  have  taken  possession  of  so 

many  provinces  for  which  men  had  pronounced  them  unfit, 

that,  though  these  still  declare  there  are  some  inaccessible 

to  them,  it  is  difficult  to  say  just  where  they  must  stop. 

^    ^he  shining  names  of  famous  women  have  cast  light 

'     upon  the  path  of  the  sex,  and  many  obstructions  have 


94  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

been  removed.  When  a  Montague  could  learn  better 
than  her  brother,  and  use  her  lore  afterwards  to  such 
purpose  as  an  observer,  it  seemed  amiss  to  hinder 
women  from  preparing  themselves  to  see,  or  from  see- 
ing all  they  could,  when  prepared.  Since  Somerville 
has  achieved  so  much,  will  any  young  girl  be  prevented 
from  seeking  a  knowledge  of  the  physical  sciences,  if  she 
wishes  it  ?  De  Stael's  name  was  not  so  clear  of  oiFence  ; 
she  could  not  forget  the  Woman  in  the  thought ;  while  she 
was  instructing  you  as  a  mind,  she  wished  to  be  admired 
as  a  Woman ;  sentimental  tears  often  dimmed  the  eagle 
glance.  Her  intellect,  too,  with  all  its  splendor,  trained 
in  a  drawing-room,  fed  on  flattery,  was  tainted  and 
flawed ;  yet  its  beams  make  the  obscurest  school-house  in 
New  England  warmer  and  lighter  to  the  little  rugged 
girls  who  are  gathered  together  on  its  wooden  bench. 
They  may  never  through  life  hear  her  name,  but  she  is 
not  the  less  their  benefactress. 

The  influence  has  been  such,  that  the  aim  certainly  is, 
now,  in  arranging  school  instruction  for  girls,  to  give 
them  as  fair  a  field  as  boys.  As  yet,  indeed,  these 
arrangements  are  made  with  little  judgment  or  reflection ; 
just  as  the  tutors  of  Lady  Jane  Grey,  and  other  distin- 
guished women  of  her  time,  taught  them  Latin  and 
Greek,  because  they  knew  nothing  else  themselves ,  so 
now  the  improvement  in  the  education  of  girls  is  to  be 
made  by  giving  them  young_  men  as  teachers,  whoj^fily 
teach  what  has  been  taught  themselves  at  college,  while 
methods  and  topics  need  revision  for  these  new  subjects, 
which  could  better  be  made  by  those  who  had  experienced 


SCHOOL   INSTRUCTION.  95 

the  same  wants.  Women  are,  often,  at  the  head  of  these 
institutions  ;  but  they  have,  as  yet,  seldom  been  thinking 
women,  capable  of  organizing  a  new  whole  for  the  wants 
of  the  time,  and  choosing  persons  to  officiate  in  the  depart- 
ments. And  when  some  portion  of  instruction  of  a  good 
sort  is  got  from  the  school,  the  far  greater  proportion 
which  is  infused  from  the  general  atmosphere  of  society- 
contradicts  its  purport.  Yet  books  and  a  little  element- 
ary instruction  are  not  furnished  in  vain.  Women  are 
better  aware  how  great  and  rich  the  universe  is,  not  so 
easily  blinded  by  narrowness  or  partial  views  of  a  home 
circle.  "  Her  mother  did  so  before  her  "  is  no  longer  a 
sufficient  excuse.  Indeed,  it  was  never  received  as  an 
excuse"  to  mitigate  the  severity  of  censure,  but  was 
adduced  as  a  reason,  rather,  why  there  should  be  no  effort 
made  for  reformation. 

Whether  much  or  little  has  been  done,  or  will  be  done, 

—  whether  women  will  add  to  the  talent  of  narration  the 
power  of  systematizing,  —  whether  they  will  carve 
marble,  as  well  as  draw  and  paint,  —  is  not  important. 
But  that  jt  should  be  acknowledged  that  they  have  intel- 
lect which  needs  developing  —  that  they  should  not  be 
considered  complete,  if  beings  of  affection  and  habit  alone 

—  is  important. 

Yet  even  this  acknowledgment,  rather  conquered  by 
Woman  than  proffered  by  Man,  has  been  sullied  by  the 
usual  selfishness.  Too  much  is  said  of  women  being  better 
educated,  that  they  may  become  better  companions  and 
mothers  for  m&n.  They  should  be  fit  for  such  compan- 
ionship, and  we  have  mentioned,   with  satisfaction,   in- 


96  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

stances  where  it  has  been  established.  Earth  knows  no 
fairer,  holier  relation  than  that  of  a  mother.  It  is  one 
which,  rightly  understood,  must  both  promote  and 
require  the  highest  attainments.  But  a  being  of  infinite 
scope  must  not  be  treated  with  an  exclusive  view  to  any 
one  relation.  Give  the  soul  free  course,  let  the  organiza- 
ition,  both  of  body  and  mind,  be  freely  developed,  and 
I  the  being  will  be  fit  for  any  and  every  relation  to  which 
lit  may  be  called.  The  intellect,  no  more  than  the  sense 
■of  hearing,  is  to  be  cultivated  merely  that  Woman  may  be 
a  more  valuable  companion  to  Man,  but  because  the  Power 
who  gave  a  power,  by  its  mere  existence  signifies  that  it 
must  be  brought  out  toward  perfection. 

In  this  regard  of  self-dependence,  and  a  greater  sim- 
plicity and  fulness  of  being,  we  must  hail  as  a  prelimi- 
nary the  increase  of  the  class  contemptuously  designated 
as  ''old  maids." 

We  cannot  wonder  at  the  aversion  with  which  old 
bachelors  and  old  maids  have  been  regarded.  Marriage 
is  the  natural  means  of  forming  a  sphere,  of  taking  root 
in  the  earth ;  it  requires  more  strength  to  do  this  without 
such  an  opening ;  very  many  have  failed,  and  their  im- 
perfections have  been  in  every  one's  way.  They  have 
been  more  partial,  more  harsh,  more  officious  and  imper- 
tinent, than  those  compelled  by  severer  friction  to  render 
themselves  endurable.  Those  who  have  a  more  full  expe- 
rience of  the  instincts  have  a  distrust  as  to  whether  the 
unmarried  can  be  thoroughly  human  and  humane,  such  as 
is  hinted  in  the  saying,  "  Old  maids'  and  bachelors'  chil- 


(^^  AND   UNciij  97 

dren  are  well  cared  for,"  which  derides  at  once  their 
ignorance  and  their  presumption. 

-Yet  the  business  of  society  has  become  so  complex, 
that  it  could  now  scarcely  be  carried  on  without  the  pres- 
ence of  these  despised  auxiliaries  ;  and  detachments  from 
the  army  of  aunts  and  uncles  are  wanted  to  stop  gaps  in 
every  hedge.  They  rove  about,  mental  and  moral  Ish- 
maelites,  pitching  their  tents  amid  the  fixed  and  orna- 
mented homes  of  men. 

In  a  striking  variety  of  forms,  genius  of  late,  both  at 
home  and  abroad,  has  paid  its  tribute  to  the  character  of 
the  Aunt  and  the  Uncle,  recognizing  in  these  personages 
the  spiritual  parents,  who  have  supplied  defects  in  the 
treatment  of  the  busy  or  careless  actual  parents. 

They  also  gain  a  wider,  if  not  so  deep  experience. 
Those  who  are  not  intimately  and  permanently  linked 
with  others,  are  thrown  upon  themselves ;  and,  if  they 
do  not  there  find  peace  and  incessant  life,  there  is  none 
to  flatter  them  that  they  are  not  very  poor,  and  very 
mean. 

A  position  which  so  constantly  admonishes,  may  be  of 
inestimable  benefit.  The  person  may  gain,  undistracted 
by  other  relationships,  a  closer  communion  with  the  one. 
S-Uch  a  use  is  made  of  it  by  saints  and  sibyls.  Or  she 
may  be  one  of  the  lay  sisters  of  charity,  a  canoness, 
bound  by  an  inward  vow,  —  or  the  useful  drudge  of  all 
men,  the  Martha,  much  sought,  little  prized,  —  or  the 
intellectual  interpreter  of  the  varied  life  she  sees ;  the 
Urania  of  a  half-formed  world's  twilight. 

Or  she  may  combine  all  these.  Not  "  needing  to 
9 


98  WOMAN  IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTUKl 

care  that  she  may  please  a  husband,"  a  frail  and  JmiteJ 
being,  her  thoughts  may  turn  to  the  centre,  and  she  may, 
by  steadfast  contemplation  entering  into  the  secret  of 
truth  and  love,  use  it  for  the  good  of  all  men,  instead  of  a 
chosen  few,  and  interpret  through  it  all  the  forms  of  life. 
It  is  possible,  perhaps,  to  be  at  once  a  priestly  servant 
and  a  loving  muse. 

'  Saints  and  geniuses  have  often  chosen  a  lonely  position, 
in  the  faith  that  if,  undisturbed  by  the  pressure  of  near 
ties,  they  would  give  themselves  up  to  the  inspiring  spirit, 
it  would  enable  them  to  understand  and  reproduce  life 
better  than  actual  experience  could. 

How  many  "old  maids  "take  this  high  stand  we  cannot 
say :  it  is  an  unhappy  fact  that  too  many  who  have  come 
before  the  eye  are  gossips  rather,  and  not  always  good- 
natured  gossips.  But  if  these  abuse,  and  none  make  the 
best  of  their  vocation,  yet  it  has  not  failed  to  produce 
some  good  results.  It  has  been  seen  by  others,  if  not  by 
themselves,  that  beings,  likely  to  be  left  alone,  need  to 
be  fortified  and  furnished  within  themselves ;  and  educa- 
tion and  thought  have  tended  more  and  more  to  regard 
these  beings  as  related  to  absolute  Being,  as  well  as  to 
others.  It  has  been  seen  that,  as  the  breaking  of  no 
bond  ought  to  destroy  a  man,  so  ought  the  missing  of 
none  to  hinder  him  from  growing.  And  thus  a  circum- 
stance of  the  time,  which  springs  rather  from  its  luxury 
than,  its  purity,  has  helped  to  place  women  on  the  true 
platform. 

y  Perhaps  the  next  generation,  looking  deeper  into  this 
matter,  will  find  that  contempt  is  put  upon  old  maids,  or 


WHY   GROW   OLD?  99 

old  women,  at  all,  merely  because  they  do  not  use  the 
elixir  which  would  keep  them  always  young.  Under  its 
influence,  a  gem  brightens  yearly  which  is  only  seen  to 
more  advantaore  throuo;h  the  fissures  Time  makes  in  the 
casket.*  No  one  thinks  of  Michael  Angelo's  Persican 
Sibyl,  or  St.  Theresa,  or  Tasso's  Leonora,  or  the  Greek 
Electra,  as  an  old  maid,  more  than  of  Michael  Angelo  or 
Canova  as  old  bachelors,  though  all  had  reached  the 
period  in  life's  course  appointed  to  take  that  degree. 

See  a  common  woman  at  forty ;  scarcely  has  she  the 
remains  of  beauty,  of  any  soft  poetic  grace  which  gave 
her  attra<jtion  as  Woman,  which  kindled  the  hearts  of 
those  who  looked  on  her  to  sparkling  thoughts,  or  diffused 
round  her  a  roseate  air  of  gentle  love.  See  her,  who  was, 
indeed,  a  lovely  girl,  in  the  coarse,  full-blown  dahlia 
flower  of  what  is  commonly  matron-beauty,  ''fat,  fair, 
and  forty,"  showily  dressed,  and  with  manners  as  broad 
and  full  as  her  frill  or  satin  cloak.  People  observe, 
"How  well  she  is  preserved!  "  "  She  is  a  fine  woman 
still,"  they  say.  This  woman,  whether  as  a  duchess  in 
diamonds,  or  one  of  our  city  dames  in  mosaics,  charms 
the  poet's  heart  no  more,  and  would  look  much  out 
of  place  kneeling  before  the  Madonna.  She  "  does 
well  the  honors  of  her  house,"  —  "  leads  society,"  — is, 
in  short,  always  spoken  and  thought  of  upholstery-wise. 

Or  see  that  care-worn  face,  from  which  every  soft  line 
is  blotted, —  those  faded  eyes,  from  which  lonely  tears 
have  driven  the  flashes  of  fancy,  the  mild  white  beam  of 

♦Appendix  F. 


100  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

a  tender  enthusiasm.  This  woman  is  not  so  ornamental 
to  a  tea-party ;  yet  she  would  please  better,  in  picture. 
Yet  surely  she,  no  more  than  the  other,  looks  as  a  human 
being  should  at  the  end  of  forty  years.  Forty  years ! 
have  they  bound  those  brows  with  no  garland  ?  shed  in 
ihe  lamp  no  drop  of  ambrosial  oil  ? 

Not  so  looked  the  Iphigenia  in  Aulis.  Her  forty 
years  had  seen  her  in  anguish,  in  sacrifice,  in  utter  lone- 
liness. But  those  pains  were  borne  for  her  father  and 
her  country ;  the  sacrifice  she  had  made  pure  for  herself 
and  those  around  her.  Wandering  alone  at  night  in  the 
vestal  solitude  of  her  imprisoning  grove,  she  has  looked 
up  through  its  "  living  summits  "  to  the  stars,  which  shed 
down  into  her  aspect  their  own  lofty  melody.  At  forty 
she  would  not  misbecome  the  marble. 

Not  so  looks  the  Persica.  She  is  withered :  she  is 
faded ;  the  drapery  that  enfolds  her  has  in  its  dignity  an 
angularity,  too,  that  tells  of  age,  of  sorrow,  of  a  stern 
resignation  to  the  must.  But  her  eye,  that  torch  of  the 
soul,  is  untamed,  and,  in  the  intensity  of  her  reading,  we 
see  a  soul  invincibly  young  in  faith  and  hope.  Her  age 
is  her  charm,  for  it  is  the  night  of  the  past  that  gives 
this  beacon-fire  leave  to  shine.  Wither  more  and  more, 
black  Chrysalid  !  thou  dost  but  give  the  winged  beauty 
time  to  mature  its  splendors  ! 

Not  so  looked  Victoria  Colonna^  after  her  life  of  a 
great  hope,  and  of  true  conjugal  fidelity.  She  had  been, 
not  merely  a  bride,  but  a  wife,  and  each  hour  had  helped 
tc  plume  the  noble  bird.     A  coronet  of  pearls  will  not 


THE   BETROTHED    OF   THE   SUN.  101 

shame  her  brow ;  it  is  white  and  ample,  a  worthy  altar 
for  love  and  thought. 

Even  among  the  North  American  Indians,  a  race  of 
men  as  completely  engaged  in  mere  instinctive  life  as 
almost  any  in  the  world,  and  where  each  chief,  keeping 
many  wives  as  useful  servants,  of  course  looks  with  no 
kind  eye  on  celibacy  in  Woman,  it  was  excused  in  the  fol- 
lowing instance  mentioned  by  Mrs.  Jameson.  A  woman 
dreamt  in  youth  that  she  was  betrothed  to  the  Sun.  She 
built  her  a  wigwam  apart,  filled  it  with  emblems  of  her 
alliance,  and  means  of  an  independent  life.  There  she 
passed  her  days,  sustained  by  her  own  exertions,  and  true 
to  her  supposed  engagement. 

In  any  tribe,  we  believe,  a  woman,  who  lived  as  if  she 
was  betrothed  to  the  Sun,  would  be  tolerated,  and  the 
rays  which  made  her  youth  blossom  sweetly,  would  crown 
her  with  a  halo  in  age. 

There  is,  on  this  subject,  a  nobler  view  than  hereto- 
fore, if  not  the  noblest,  and  improvement  here  must  coin- 


cide with  that  in  the  view  taken  of  marriage.  "We  must 
have  units  before  we  can  have  union,"  says  one  of  the  ripe 
thinkers  of  the  times. 

If  larger  intellectual  resources  begin  to  be  deemed 
needful  to  Woman,  still  more  is  a  spiritual  dignity  in  her, 
or  even  the  mere  assumption  of  it,  looked  upon  with 
respect.  Joanna  Southcote  and  Mother  Anne  Lee  are 
3ure  of  a  band  of  disciples ;  Ecstatica,  Dolorosa,  of  en- 
raptured believers  who  will  visit  them  in  their  lowly  huts, 
and  wait  for  days  to  revere  them  in  their  trances.  The 
foreign  noble  traverses  land  and  sea  to  hear  a  few  words 
9=^ 


102         WOMAN   IN    XHE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

from  the  lips  of  the  lowlj  peasant  girl,  whom  he  believes 
especially  visited  by  the  Most  High.  Very  beautiful,  in 
this  way,  was  the  influence  of  the  invalid  of  St.  Peters- 
burg, as  described  by  De  Maistre. 

Mysticism,  which  may  be  defined  as  the  brooding  soul 
of  the  world,  cannot  fail  of  its  oracular  promise  as  to 
Woman.  "  The  mothers,"  "  The  mother  of  all 
things,"  are  expressions  of  thought  which  lead  the  mind 
towards  this  side  of  universal  growth.  Whenever  a  mys- 
tical whisper  was  heard,  from  Behmen  down  to  St. 
Simon,  sprang  up  the  thought,  that,  if  it  be  true,  as  the 
legend  says,  that  Humanity  withers  through  a  fault  com- 
mitted by  and  a  curse  laid  upon  Wpman,  through  her 
pure  child,  or  influence,  shall  the  new  Adam,  the  redemp- 
tion, arise.  Innocence  is  to  be  replaced  by  virtue,  depend- 
ence by  a  willing  submission,  in  the  heart  of  the  Yirgin- 
Mother  of  the  new  race. 

The  spiritual  tendency  is  toward  the  elevation  of  Wo- 
man, but  the  intellectual  by  itself  is  not  so.  Plato 
sometimes  seems  penetrated  by  that  high  idea  of  love, 
which  considers  Man  and  Woman  as  the  two-fold  expres- 
sion of  one  thought.  This  the  angel  of  Swedenborg,  the 
angel  of  the  coming  age,  cannot  surpass,  but  only  explain 
more  fully.  Eut  then  again  Plato,  the  man  of  intellect, 
treats  Woman  in  the  Kepublic  as  property,  and,  in  the 
Timseus,  says  that  Man,  if  he  misuse  the  privileges  of 
one  life,  shall  be  degraded  into  the  form  of  Woman ;  and 
then,  if  he  do  not  redeem  himself,  into  that  of  a  bird. 
This,  as  I  said  above,  expresses  most  happily  how  anti- 
poetical  is  this  state  of  mind.     For  the  poet,  contemplat- 


TUNE  THE  LYRE.  103 

ing  the  world  of  things,  selects  various  birds  as  the  sym- 
bols of  his  most  gracious  and  ethereal  thoughts,  just  as 
he  calls  upon  his  genius  as  muse  rather  than  as  God. 
But  the  intellect,  cold,  is  ever  more  masculine  than 
feminine ;  warmed  by  emotion,  it  rushes  toward  mother- 
earth,  and  puts  on  the  forms  of  beauty. 

The  electrical,  the  magnetic  element  in  Woman  has 
not  been  fairly  brought  out  at  any  period.  Everything 
night  be  expected  from  it ;  she  has  far  more  of  it  than 
Man.  This  is  commonly  expressed  by  saying  that  her 
intuitions  are  more  rapid  and  more  correct.  You  will 
often  see  men  of  high  intellect  absolutely  stupid  in  regard 
to  the  atmospheric  changes,  the  fine  invisible  links  which 
connect  the  forms  of  life  around  them,  while  common 
women,  if  pure  and  modest,  so  that  a  vulgar  self  do  not 
overshadow  the  mental  eye,  will  seize  and  delineate  these 
with  unerring  discrimination. 

Women  who  combine  this  organization  with  creative 
genius  are  very  commonly  unhappy  at  present.  They 
see  too  much  to  act  in  conformity  with  those  around  them, 
and  their  quick  impulses  seem  folly  to  those  who  do  not 
discern  the  motives.  This  is  an  usual  efiect  of  the  ap- 
parition of  genius,  whether  in  Man  or  Woman,  but  is  more 
frequent  with  regard  to  the  latter,  because  a  harmony, 
an  obvious  order  and  self-restraining  decorum,  is  most 
expected  from  her. 

Then  women  of  genius,  even  more  than  men,  are  likely 
to  be  enslaved  by  an  impassioned  sensibility.  The  world 
repels  them  r.:ore  rudely,  and  they  are  of  weaker  bodily 
frame. 


104  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH    CENTUKY. 

Those  who  seem  overladen  with  electricity  frighten 
those  around  them.  "  When  she  merely  enters  the  room, 
I  am  what  the  French  call  herisse,^^  said  a  man  of 
petty  feelings  and  worldly  character  of  such  a  woman, 
whose  depth  of  eye  and  powerful  motion  announced  the 
conductor  of  the  mysterious  fluid. 

Woe  to  such  a  woman  who  finds  herself  linked  to  such 
a  man  in  bonds  too  close  !  It  is  the  crudest  of  errors. 
He  will  detest  her  with  all  the  bitterness  of  wounded 
self-love.  He  will  take  the  whole  prejudice  of  manhood 
upon  himself,  and,  to  the  utmost  of  his  power,  imprison 
and  torture  her  by  its  imperious  rigors. 

Yet,  allow  room  enough,  and  the  electric  fluid  will  be 
found  to  invigorate  and  embellish,  not  destroy  life.  Such 
women  are  the  great  actresses,  the  songsters.  Such  traits 
we  read  in  a  late  searching,  though  too  French,  analysis 
of  the  character  of  Mademoiselle  Rachel,  by  a  moder» 
La  Rochefoucault.  The  Greeks  thus  represent  the 
muses ;  they  have  not  the  golden  serenity  of  Apollo ; 
they  are  overflowed  with  thought;  there  is  something 
tragic  in  their  air.  Such  are  the  Sibyls  of  Guercino ; 
the  eye  is  overfull  of  expression,  dilated  and  lustrous; 
it  seems  to  have  drawn  the  whole  being  into  it. 

Sickness  is  the  frequent  result  of  this  overcharged 
existence.  To  this  region,  however  misunderstood,  or 
interpreted  with  presumptuous  carelessness,  belong  the 
phenomena  of  magnetism,  or  mesmerism,  as  it  is  now 
often  called,  where  the  trance  of  the  Ecstatica  purports 
to  be  produced  by  the  agency  of  one  human  being  on 
another,  instead  of,  as  in  her  case,  direct  from  the  spirit. 


CASSANDRA.  105 

The  worldling  has  his  sneer  at  this  as  at  the  services 
of  religion.  "  The  churches  can  always  be  filled  with 
women" — "Show  me  a  man  in  one  of  your  magnetic 
states,  and  I  will  believe." 

Women  are,  indeed,  the  easy  victims  both  of  priest- 
craft and  self-delusion ;  but  this  would  not  be,  if  the 
intellect  was  developed  in  proportion  to  the  other  powers. 
They  would  then  have  a  regulator,  and  be  more  in  equi- 
poise, yet  must  retain  the  same  .nervous  susceptibility 
while  their  physical  structure  is  such  as  it  is. 

It  is  with  just  that  hope  that  we  welcome  everything 
that  tends  to  strengthen  the  fibre  and  develop  the  nature 
on  more  sides.  When  the  intellect  and  affections  are  in 
harmony;  when  intellectual  consciousness  is  calm  and 
deep ;  inspiration  will  not  be  confounded  with  fancy. 

Then,  "  she  who  advances 

With  rapturous,  lyrical  glances, 

Singing  the  song  of  the  earth,  singing 
Its  hyinn  to  the  Gods," 

"will  not  be  pitied  as  a  mad- woman,  nor  shrunk  from  as 
unnatural. 

The  Greeks,  who  saw  everything  in  forms,  which  we 
are  trying  to  ascertain  as  law,  and  classify  as  cause,  em- 
bodied all  this  in  the  form  of  Cassandra.  Cassandra  was 
only  unfortunate  in  receiving  her  gift  too  soon.  The 
remarks,  however,  that  the  world  still  makes  in  such 
cases,  are  well  expressed  by  the  Greek  dramatist. 

In  the  Trojan  dames  there  are  fine  touches  of  nature 
with  regard  to  Cassandra.  Hecuba  shows  that  mixture 
of  shame  and  reverence  that  prosaic  kindred  always  do 


106  WOMAN  IN  THE  NINETEENTH   CENTURI". 

toward  the  inspired  child,  the  poet,  the  elected  sufferer  for 
the  rac  3. 

When  the  herald  announces  that  Cassandra  is  chosen 
to  be  tiie  mistress  of  Agamemnon,  Hecuba  answers,  with 
indignation,  betraying  the  pride  and  faith  she  involun- 
tarily felt  in  this  daughter. 

*^Hec.  The  maiden  of  Phoebus,  to  whom  the  golden-haired 

Gave  as  a  privilege  a  virgin  life  ! 
Tal.  Love  of  the  inspired  maiden  hath  pierced  him. 
Hec.  Then  cast  away,  my  child,  the  sacred  keys,  and  from  thy  person 

The  consecrated  garlands  which  thou  wearest. ' ' 

Yet,  when,  a  moment  after,  Cassandra  appears,  sing- 
ing, wildly,  her  inspired  song,  Hecuba  calls  her,  "My 
frantic  child." 

Yet  how  graceful  she  is  in  her  tragic  raptus^  the 
chorus  shows. 

^^  Chorus.    How  sweetly  at  thy  house's  ills  thou  smil'st, 

Chanting  what,  haply,  thou  wilt  not  show  true.'* 

If  Hecuba  dares  not  trust  her  highest  instinct  about 
her  daughter,  still  less  can  the  vulgar  mind  of  the  herald 
Talthybius,  a  man  not  without  feeling,  but  with  no 
princely,  no  poetic  blood,  abide  the  wild,  prophetic  mood 
which  insults  all  his  prejudices. 

*'  Tal.  The  venerable,  and  that  accounted  wise. 
Is  nothing  better  than  that  of  no  repute  ; 
For  the  greatest  king  of  all  the  Greeks, 
The  dear  son  of  Atreus,  is  possessed  with  the  love 
Of  this  mad-woman.     I,  indeed,  am  poor  ; 
Yet  I  would  not  receive  her  to  my  bed." 

The  royal  Agamemnon  could  see  the  beauty  of  Cas- 
sandra ;  he  was  not  afraid  of  her  prophetic  gifts. 


SEERESS    OF   PREVORST.  107 

The  best  topic  for  a  chapter  on  this  subject,  in  the 
present  day,  would  be  the  history  of  the  Seeress  of  Pre- 
vorst,  the  best  observed  subject  of  magnetism  in  our  pres- 
ent times,  and  who,  like  her  ancestresses  of  Delphos,  was, 
roused  to  ecstasy  or  phrensy  by  the  touch  of  the  laurel. 

I  observe  in  her  case,  and  in  one  known  to  me  here, 
that  what  might  have  been  a  gradual  and  gentle  disclos- 
ure of  remarkable  powers  was  broken  and  jarred  into 
disease  by  an  unsuitable  marriage.  Both  these  persons 
w^ere  unfortunate  in  not  understanding  what  was  involved 
in  this  relation,  but  acted  ignorantly,  as  their  friends 
desired.  They  thought  that  this  was  the  inevitable  des- 
tiny of  Woman.  But  when  engaged  in  the  false  posi- 
tion, it  was  impossible  for  them  to  endure  its  dissonances, 
as  those  of  less  delicate  perceptions  can ;  and  the  fine 
flow  of  life  was  checked  and  sullied.  They  grew  sick  ; 
but,  even  so,  learned  and  disclosed  more  than  those  in 
health  are  wont  to  do. 

In  such  cases,  worldlings  sneer;  but  reverent  men 
learn  wondrous  news,  either  from  the  person  observed,  or 
by  thoughts  caused  in  themselves  by  the  observation. 
Fenelon  learns  from  Guyon,  Kerner  from  his  Seeress, 
what  we  fain  would  know.  But  to  appreciate  such  dis- 
closures one  must  be  a  child;  and  here  the  phrase. 
"  women  and  children,"  may,  perhaps,  be  interpreted 
aright,  that  only  little  children  shall  enter  into  the  king- 
dom of  heaven. 

All  these  motions  of  the  tim^e,  tides  that  betoken  a 
waxing  moon,  overflow  upon  our  land.  The  world  at 
large  is  readier  to  let  Woman  learn  and   manifest  tJie 


108  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH    CL'NTURY. 

capacities  of  her  nature  than  it  ever  was  before,  and  here 
is  a  less  encumbered  field  and  freer  air  than  anywhere 
else.  And  it  ought  to  be  so  ;  we  ought  to  pay  for  Isa- 
J)ella's  jewels. 

The  names  of  nations  are  feminine  —  Religion,  Virtue 
and  Victory  are  feminine.  To  those  who  have  a  super- 
stition, as  to  outward  reigns,  it  is  not  without  significance 
Ihat  the  name  of  the  queen  of  our  mother-land  should  at 
this  crisis  be  Victoria,  —  Victoria  the  First.  Perhaps  to 
us  it  may  be  given  to  disclose  the  era  thus  outwardly 
presaged. 

Another  Isabella  too  at  this  time  ascends  the  throne. 
Might  she  open  a  new  world  to  her  sex  !  But,  probably, 
these  poor  little  women  are,  least  of  any,  educated  to 
serve  as  examples  or  inspirers  for  the  rest.  The  Spanish 
queen  is  younger ;  we  know  of  her  that  she  sprained  her 
foot  the  other  day,  dancing  in  her  private  apartments ;  of 
Victoria,  that  she  reaxis  aloud,  in  a  distinct  voice  and 
agreeable  manner,  her  addresses  to  Parliament  on  certain 
solemn  days,  and,  yearly,  that  she  presents  to  the  nation 
some  new  prop  of  royalty.  These  ladies  have,  very  likely, 
been  trained  more  completely  to  the  puppet  life  than  any 
other.  The  queens,  who  have  been  queens  indeed,  were 
trained  by  adverse  circumstances  to  know  the  world 
around  them  and  their  own  powers. 

It  is  moving,  while  amusing,  to  read  of  the  Scottish 
peasant  measuring  the  print  .left  by  the  queen's  foot  as 
she  walks,  and  priding  himself  on  its  beauty.  It  is  so 
natural  to  wish  to  find  what  is  fair  and  precious  in  high 


THE  BRIBE    IS   NOT   THE    PRIZE.  109 

places,  —  so  astonishing  to  find  the  Bourbon  a  glutton, 
or  the  Guelph  a  dullard  or  gossip. 

In  our  own  country,  women  are,  in  many  respects, 
better  situated  than  men.  Good  books  are  allowed,  with 
more  time  to  read  them.  They  are  not  so  early  forced 
into  the  bustle  of  life,  nor  so  weighed  down  by  demands 
for  outward  success.  The  perpetual  changes,  incident 
to  our  society,  make  the  blood  circulate  freely  through 
the  body  politic,  and,  if  not  favorable  at  present  to  the 
grace  and  bloom  of  lite,  they  are  so  to  activity,  resource, 
and  would  be  to  reflection,  but  for  a  low  materialist  ten- 
dency, from  which  the  women  are  generally  exempt  in 
themselves,  though  its  existence,  among  the  men,  has  a 
tendency  to  repress  their  impulses  and  make  them  doubt 
their  instincts,  thus  often  paralyzing  their  action  during 
the  best  years. 

But  they  have  time  to  think,  and  no  traditions  chain 
them,  and  few  conventionalities,  compared  with  what 
must  be  met  in  other  nations.  There  is  no  reason  why 
they  should  not  discover  that  the  secrets  of  nature  are 
open,  the  revelations  of  the  spirit  waiting,  for  whoever 
will  seek  them.  When  the  mind  is  once  awakened  to 
this  consciousness,  it  will  not  be  restrained  by  the  habits 
of  the  past,  but  fly  to  seek  the  seeds  of  a  heavenly 
future. 
^  Their  employments  are  more  favorable  to  meditation 
than  those  of  men. 

Woman  is  not  addressed  religiously  here  more  than 

elsewhere.     She  is  told  that  she  should  be  worthy  to  be 

the  mother  of  a  Washington,  or  the  companion  of  some 
10 


110  WOMAN  IN   THE   NINETEENIH    CENTURY. 

good  man.  But  in  many,  many  instances,  she  has 
already  learned  that  all  bribes  have  the  same  flaw ;  that 
truth  and  good  are  to  be  sought  solely  for  their  own 
sakes.  And,  already,  an  ideal  sweetness  floats  over 
many  forms,  shines  in  many  eyes. 

Already  deep  questions  are  put  by  young  girls  on  the 
great  theme  :  What  shall  I  do  to  enter  upon  the  eternal 
life? 

Men  are  very  courteous  to  them.  They  praise  them 
often,  check  them  seldom.  There  is  chivalry  in  the  feel- 
ing towai;d  "  the  ladies,"  which  gives  them  the  best  seats 
in  the  stage-coach,  frequent  admission,  not  only  to  lec- 
tures of  all  sorts,  but  to  courts  of  justice,  halls  of  legisla- 
ture, reform  conventions.  The  newspaper  editor  "  would 
be  better  pleased  that  the  Lady's  Book  should  be  filled 
up  exclusively  by  ladies.  It  would  then,  indeed,  be  a 
true  gem,  worthy  to  be  presented  by  young  men  to  the 
mistress  of  their  afiections."     Can  gallantry  go  further? 

In  this  country  is  venerated,  wherever  seen,  the  char- 
acter which  Goethe  spoke  of  as  an  Ideal,  which  he  saw 
actualized  in  his  friend  and  patroness,  the  Grand  Duch- 
ess Amelia  :  "  The  excellent  woman  is  she,  who,  if  the 
husband  dies,  can  be  a  father  to  the  children."  And  this, 
if  read  aright,  tells  a  great  deal. 

Women  who  speak  in  public,  if  they  have  a  moral 
power,  such  as  has  been  felt  from  Angelina  Grimke  and 
Abby  Kelly, — that  is,  if  they  speak  for  conscience'  sake, 
to  serve  a  cause  which  they  hold  sacred,  —  invariably 
subdue  the  prejudices  of  their  hearers,  and  excite  an 


THE   BRIBE   IS   NOT   THE   PRIZE.  Ill 

interest  proportionate  to  the  aversion  with  which  it  had 
been  the  purpose  to  regard  them. 

A  passage  in  a  private  letter  so  happily  illustrates  this, 
that  it  must  be  inserted  here. 

Abb  J  Kelly  in  the  Town-House  of . 

"The  scene  was  not  unheroic  —  to  see  that  woman, 
true  to  humanity  and  her  own  nature,  a  centre  of  rude 
eyes  and  tongues,  even  gentlemen  feeling  licensed  to  make 
part  of  a  species  of  mob  around  a  female  out  of  her 
sphere.  As  she  took  her  seat  in  the  desk  amid  the  great 
noise,  and  in  the  throng,  full,  like  a  wave,  of  something 
to  ensue,  I  saw  her  humanity  in  a  gentleness  and  unpre- 
tension,  tenderly  open  to  the  sphere  around  her,  and,  had 
she  not  been  supported  by  the  power  of  the  will  of  genu- 
ineness and  principle,  she  would  have  failed.  It  led  her 
to  prayer,  which,  in  Woman  especially,  is  childlike ;  sen- 
sibility and  will  going  to  the  side  of  God  and  looking  up 
to  him  ;  and  humanity  was  poured  out  in  aspiration. 

''  She  acted  like  a  gentle  hero,  with  her  mild  decision 
and  womanly  calmness.  All  heroism  is  mild,  and  quiet, 
and  gentle,  for  it  is  life  and  possession ;  and  combativeness 
and  firmness  show  a  want  of  actualness.  She  'is  as  ear- 
nest, fresh  and  simple,  as  when  she  first  entered  the 
crusade.  I  think  she  did  much  good,  more  than  the  men 
in  her  place  could  do,  for  Woman  feels  more  as  being  and 
reproducing  —  this  brings  the  subject  more  into  home 
relations.  Men  speak  through,  and  mostly  from  intellect, 
and  this  addresses  itself  to  that  in  others  which  is  com- 
bative." 
~     Not  easily  shall  we  find  elsewhere,  or  before  this  time, 


112  WOMAN   IN  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY. 

any  -written  observations  on  the  same  subject,  so  delicate 
and  profound. 

The  late  Dr.  Channing,  whose  enlarged  and  tender  and 
religious  nature  shared  every  onward  impulse  of  his  time, 
though  his  thoughts  followed  his  wishes  with  a  delibera- 
tive caution  which  belonged  to  his  habits  and  tempera- 
ment, was  greatly  interested  in  these  expectations  for 
women.  His  own  treatment  of  them  was  absolutely  and 
thoroughly  religious.  He  regarded  them  as  souls,  each 
of  which  had  a  destiny  of  its  own,  incalculable  to  other 
minds,  and  whose  leading  it  must  follow,  guided  by  the 
light  of  a  private  conscience.  He  had  sentiment,  delicacy, 
kindness,  taste ;  but  they  were  all  pervaded  and  ruled  by 
this  one  thought,  that  all  beings  had  souls,  and  must 
vindicate  their  own  inheritance.  Thus  all  beings  were 
treated  by  him  with  an  equal,  and  sweet,  though  solemn, 
courtesy.  The  young  and  unknown,  the  woman  and  the 
child,  all  felt  themselves  regarded  with  an  infinite  expec- 
tation, from  which  there  was  no  reaction  to  vulgar 
prejudice.  He  demanded  of  all  he  met,  to  use  his  favor- 
ite phrase,   "  great  truths." 

His  memory,  every  way  dear  and  reverend,  is,  by 
many,  especially  cherished  for  this  intercourse  of  unbroken 
respect. 

At  one  time,  when  the  progress  of  Harriet  Martineau 
through  this  country,  Angelina  Grimke's  appearance  in 
public,  and  the  visit  of  Mrs.  Jameson,  had  turned  his 
thoughts  to  this  subject,  he  expressed  high  hopes  as  to 
what  the  coming  era  would  bring  to  Woman.  He  had 
been  much  pleased  with  the  dignified  courage  of  Mrs. 


DR.    CHANNING.  113 

Jameson  in  taking  up  the  defence  of  her  sex  in  a  way 
from  which  women  usually  shrink,  because,  if  they  ex- 
press themselves  on  such  subjects  with  sufficient  force 
and  clearness  to  do  any  good,  they  are  exposed  to  as- 
saults whose  vulgarity  makes  them  painful.  In  inter- 
course with  such  a  woman,  he  had  shared  her  indignation 
at  the  base  injustice,  in  many  respects,  and  in  many 
regions,  done  to  the  sex ;  and  been  led  to  think  of  it  far 
more  than  ever  before.  He  seemed  to  think  that  he 
might  some  time  write  upon  the  subject.  That  his  aid  is 
withdrawn  from  the  cause  is  a  subject  of  gi'eat  regret ; 
for,  on  this  question  as  on  others,  he  would  have  known 
how  to  sum  up  the  evidence,  and  take,  in  the  noblest 
spirit,  middle  ground.  He  always  furnished  a  platform 
on  which  opposing  parties  could  stand  and  look  at  one 
another  under  the  influence  of  his  mildness  and  enlight- 
ened candor. 

Two  younger  thinkers,  men  both,  have  uttered  noble 
prophecies,  auspicious  for  Woman.  Eanmont,  all  whose 
thoughts  tended  towards  the  establishment  of  the  reign 
of  love  and  peace,  thought  that  the  inevitable  means  of 
this  would  be  an  increased  predominance  given  to  the 
idea  of  Woman.  Had  he  lived  longer,  to  see  the  growth 
of  the  Peace  Party,  the  reforms  in  life  and  medical  prac- 
tice which  seek  to  substitute  water  for  wine  and  drugs, 
pulse  for  animal  food,  he  would  have  been  confirmed  in 
his  view  of  the  way  in  which  the  desired  changes  are  to 
be  effected. 

In  this  connection  I  must  mention  Shelley,  who,  like 
all  men  of  genius,  shared  the  feminine  development,  and, 
10* 


114  WOMAN   IN  THE   NINETEENTH   CENTUKT. 

unlike  many,  knew  it.  His  life  was  one  of  the  first 
pulse-beats  in  the  present  reform-growth.  He,  too,  ab- 
horred blood  and  heat,  and,  bj  his  system  and  his  song, 
tended  to  reinstate  a  plant-like  gentleness  in  the  devel- 
opment of  energy.  In  harmony  with  this,  his  ideas  of 
marriage  were  lofty,  and,  of  course,  no  less  so  of  Woman, 
her  nature,  and  destiny. 

For  Woman,  if,  by  a  sympathy  as  to  outward  condition, 
she  is  led  to  aid  the  enfranchisement  of  the  slave,  must 
be  no  less  so,  by  inward  tendency,  to  favor  measures 
which  promise  to  bring  the  world  more  thoroughly  and 
deeply  into  harmony  with  her  nature.  When  the  lamb 
takes  place  of  the  lion  as  the  emblem  of  nations,  both 
women  and  men  will  be  as  children  of  one  spirit,  perpet- 
ual learners  of  the  word  and  doers  thereof,  not  hearers 
only. 

A  writer  in  the  New  York  Pathfinder,  in  two  articles 
headed  "Femality,"  has  uttered  a  still  more  pregnant 
word  than  any  we  have  named.  He  views  Woman  truly 
from  the  soul,  and  not  from  society,  and  the  depth  and 
leading  of  his  thoughts  are  proportionably  remarkable. 
He  views  the  feminine  nature  as  a  harmonizer  of  the 
vehement  elements,  and  this  has  often  been  hinted  else- 
where ;  but  what  he  expresses  most  forcibly  is  the  lyrical, 
the  inspii'ing  and  inspired  apprehensiveness  of  her 
being. 

This  view^  being  identical  with  what  I  have  before 
attempted  to  indicate,  as  to  her  superior  susceptibility  to 
magnetic  or  electric  influence,  I  will  now  try  to  express 
myself  more  fully. 


MUSE   AND   MINERVA.  115 

There  are  tw3  aspects  of  Woman's  nature,  represented 
by  the  ancients  aa  Muse  and  Minerva.  It  is  the  former 
to  which  the  writer  in  the  Pathfinder  looks.  It  is  the 
latter  which  Wordsworth  has  in  mind,  when  he  says, 

"  With  a  placid  brow, 
Which  woman  ne'er  should  forfeit,  keep  thy  vow." 

The  especial  genius  of  Woman  I  believe  to  be  electri- 
cal in  movement,  intuitive  in  function,  spiritual  in 
tendency.  She  excels  not  so  easily  in  classification,  or 
"recreation,  as  in  an  instinctive  seizure  of  causes,  and  a 
simple  breathing  out  of  what  she  receives,  that  has  the 
singleness  of  life,  rather  than  the  selecting  and  energizing 
of  art. 
.  More  native  is  it  to  her  to  be  the  livinor  model  of  the 

o 

artist  than  to  set  apart  from  herself  any  one  form  in  ob- 
jective reality;  more  native  to  inspire  and  receive  the 
poem,  than  to  create  it.  In  so  far  as  soul  is  in  her  com- 
pletely developed,  all  soul  is  the  same ;  but  in  so  far  as  it 
is  modified  in  her  as  Woman,  it  flows,  it  breathes,  it  sings, 
rather  than  deposits  soil,  or  finishes  work ;  and  that  which 
is  especially  feminine  flushes,  in  blossom,  the  face  of 
earth,  and  pervades,  like  air  and  water,  all  this  seeming 
solid  globe,  daily  renewing  and  purifying  its  life.  Such 
may  be  the  especially  feminine  element  spoken  of  as 
Femality.  But  it  is  no  more  the  order  of  nature  that  it 
should  be  incarnated  pure  in  any  form,  than  that  the 
masculine  energy  should  exist  unmingled  with  it  in  any 
form. 

Male  and  female  represent  the  two  sides  of  the  great 


116  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

radical  dualism.  But,  in  fact,  they  are  perpetually  pass- 
ing into  one  another.  Fluid  hardens  to  solid,  solid  rushes 
to  fluid.  There  is  no  wholly  masculine  man,  no  purely 
feminine  woman. 

History  jeers  at  the  attempts  of  physiologists  to  bind 
great  original  laws  by  the  forms  which  flow  from  them. 
They  make  a  rule ;  they  say  from  observation  what  can 
and  cannot  be.  In  vain !  Nature  provides  exceptions 
to  every  rule.  She  sends  women  to  battle,  and  sets 
Hercules  spinning ;  she  enables  women  to  bear  immense 
burdens,  cold,  and  frost ;  she  enables  the  man,  who  feels 
maternal  love,  to  nourish  his  infant  like  a  mother.  Of 
late  she  plays  still  gayer  pranks.  Not  only  she  de- 
prives organizations,  but  organs,  of  a  necessary  end.  She 
enables  people  to  read  with  the  top  of  the  head,  and  see 
with  the  pit  of  the  stomach.  Presently  she  will  make  a 
female  Newton,  and  a  male  Syren. 

Man  partakes  of  the  feminine  in  the  Apollo,  Woman 
of  the  masculine  as  Minerva. 

What  I  mean  by  the  Muse  is  that  unimpeded  clearness 
of  the  intuitive  powers,  which  a  perfectly  truthful  ad- 
herence to  every  admonition  of  the  higher  instincts  would 
bring  to  a  finely  organized  human  being.  It  may  appear 
as  prophecy  or  as  poesy.  It  enabled  Cassandra  to  fore- 
see the  results  of  actions  passing  round  her ;  the  Seeress 
to  behold  the  true  character  of  the  person  through  the 
mask  of  his  customary  life.  (Sometimes  she  saw  a  femi- 
nine form  behind  the  man,  sometimes  the  reverse.)  It 
enabled  the  daughter  of  Linnaeus  to  see  the  soul  of  the 


EXCEPTIONS  TO  EVERY  RULE.         117 

flower  exhaling  from  the  flower.*  It  gave  a  man,  but  a 
poet-man,  the  power  of  which  he  thus  speaks  :  ''  Often 
in  mj  contemplation  of  nature,  radiant  intimations,  and 
as  it  were  sheaves  of  light,  appear  before  me  as  to  the 
facts  of  cosmogony,  in  which  my  mind  has,  perhaps, 
taken  especial  part."  He  wisely  adds,  ''  but  it  is  neces- 
sary with  earnestness  to  verify  the  knowledge  we  gain  by 
these  flashes  of  light."  And  none  should  forget  this. 
Sight  must  be  verified  by  light  before  it  can  deserve  the 
honors  of  piety  and  genius.  Yet  sight  comes  first,  and 
of  this  sight  of  the  world  of  causes,  this  approximation  to 
the  region  of  primitive  motions,  women  I  hold  to  be  espe- 
cially capable.  Even  without  equal  freedom  with  the 
other  sex,  they  have  abeady  shown  themselves  so ;  and 
should  these  faculties  have  free  play,  I  believe  they  will 
open  new,  deeper  and  purer  sources  of  joyous  inspiration 
than  have  as  yet  refreshed  the  earth. 

Let  us  be  wise,  and  not  impede  the  soul.  Let  her  work 
as  she  will.  Let  us  have  one  creative  energy,  one  inces- 
sant revelation.  Let  it  take  what  form  it  wall,  and  let 
us  not  bind  it  by  the  past  to  man  or  woman,  black  or 
white.  Jove  sprang  from  Rhea,  Pallas  from  Jove.  So 
let  it  be. 

If  it  has  been  the  tendency  of  these  remarks  to  call 
Woman  rather  to  the  Mmerva  side, —  if  I,   unlike  the 

*  The  daughter  of  Linnaeus  states,  that,  while  looking  steadfastly  at 
the  red  lily,  she  saw  its  spirit  hovering  above  it,  as  a  red  flame.  It  is 
true,  this,  like  many  fair  spirit-stories,  may  be  explained  away  as  an 
optical  illusion,  but  its  poetic  beauty  and  meaning  would,  even  then, 
make  it  valuable,  as  an  illustration  of  the  spiritual  fe,ct. 


118         WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH    CENTURY. 

more  generous  writer,  have  spoken  from  society  no  less 
than  the  soul, —  let  it  be  pardoned  !  It  is  love  that  has 
caused  this, —  love  for  many  incarcerated  souls,  that 
might  be  freed,  could  the  idea  of  religious  self-depend- 
ence be  established  in  them,  could  the  weakening  habit 
of  dependence  on  others  be  broken  up. 

Proclus  teaches  that  every  life  has.  in  its  sphere,  a 
totality  or  wholeness  of  the  animating  powers  of  the  other 
spheres ;  having  only,  as  its  own  characteristic,  a  pre- 
dominance of  some  one  power.  Thus  Jupiter  comprises, 
within  himself,  the  other  twelve  powers,  which  stand 
thus  :  The  first  triad  is  demiurgic  or  fabricative^  that  is, 
Jupiter,  Neptune,  Vulcan ;  the  second,  defensive^  Vesta, 
Minerva,  Mars;  the  third,  vivific,  Ceres,  Juno,  Diana; 
and  the  fourth.  Mercury,  Venus,  Apollo,  elevating  and 
haimonic.  In  the  sphere  of  Jupiter,  energy  is  predomi- 
nant —  with  Venus,  beauty ;  but  each  comprehends  and 
apprehends  all  the  others. 

"When  the  same  community  of  life  and  consciousness  of 
mind  begin  among  men,  humanity  will  have,  positively 
and  finally,  subjugated  its  brute  elements  and  Titanic 
childhood  ;  criticism  will  have  perished ;  arbitrary  limits 
and  ignorant  censure  be  impossible  ;  all  will  have  entered 
upon  the  liberty  of  law,  and  the  harmony  of  common 
growth. 

Then  Apollo  will  sing  to  his  lyre  what  Vulcan  forges 
on  the  anvil,  and  the  Muse  weave  anew  the  tapestries  of 
Minerva. 

It  is,  therefore,  only  in  the  present  crisis  that  the  pref- 
erence is  giver  to  Minerva.     The  power  of  continence 


LIVING  IN   RELATIONS.  119 

must  establish  the  legitimacy  of  freedom,  the  power  of  self- 
poise  the  perfection  of  motion. 

Every  relation,  every  gradation  of  nature  is  incalcu- 
lably precious,  but  only  to  the  soul  which  is  poised  upon 
itself,  and  to  whom  no  loss,  no  change,  can  bring  dull 
discord,  for  it  is  in  harmony  with  the  central  soul. 

If  any  individual  live  too  much  in  relations,  so  that  he 
becomes  a  stranger  to  the  resources  of  his  ow^n  nature,  he 
falls,  after  a  while,  into  a  distraction,  or  imbecility,  from 
which  he  can  only  be  cured  by  a  time  of  isolation,  which 
gives  the  renovating  fountains  time  to  rise  up.  With  a 
society  it  is  the  same.  Many  minds,  deprived  of  the 
traditionary  or  instinctive  means  of  passing  a  cheerful 
existence,  must  find  help  in  self-impulse,  or  perish.  It 
is  therefore  that,  while  any  elevation,  in  the  view  of 
union,  is  to  be  hailed  with  joy,  we  shall  not  decline  celi- 
bacy as  the  great  fact  of  the  time.  It  is  one  from  which 
no  vow,  no  arrangement,  can  at  present  save  a  thinking 
mind.  For  now  the  rowers  are  pausing  on  their  oars ; 
they  wait  a  change  before  they  can  pull  together.  All 
tends  to  illustrate  the  thought  of  a  wise  cotemporary. 
Union  is  only  possible  to  those  who  are  units.  To  be  fit 
for  relations  in  time,  souls,  whether  of  Man  or  Woman, 
must  be  able  to  do  without  them  in  the  spirit. 
:  It  is  therefore  that  I  would  have  Woman  lay  aside  all 
thought,  such  as  she  habitually  cherishes,  of  being  taught 
and  led  by  men.  I  would  have  her,  like  the  Indian  girl, 
dedicate  herself  to  the  Sun,  the  Sun  of  Truth,  and  go  no- 
where if  his  beams  did  not  make  clear  the  path.  I  would 
have  her  free  from  compromise,  from  complaisance,  from 


120  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

helplessness,  because  I  would  have  her  good  enough  and 
strong  enough  to  love  one  and  all  beings,  from  the  ful- 
ness, not  the  poverty  of  being. 

Men,  as  at  present  instructed,  will  not  help  this  work, 
because  they  also  are  under  the  slavery  of  habit.  I  have 
seen  with  delight  their  poetic  impulses.  A  sister  is  the 
fairest  ideal,  and  how  nobly  Wordsworth,  and  even  Byron, 
have  written  of  a  sister  ! 

There  is  no  sweeter  sight  than  to  see  a  father  with  his 
little  daughter.  Yery  vulgar  men  become  refined  to  the 
eye  when  leading  a  little  girl  by  the  hand.  At  that 
moment,  the  right  relation  between  the  sexes  seems  estab- 
lished, and  you  feel  as  if  the  man  would  aid  in  the  noblest 
purpose,  if  you  ask  him  in  behalf  of  his  little  daughter. 
Once,  two  fine  figures  stood  before  me,  thus.  The  father 
of  very  intellectual  aspect,  his  falcon  eye  softened  by 
affection  as  he  looked  down  on  his  fair  child ;  she  the 
image  of  himself,  only  more  graceful  and  brilliant  in  ex- 
pression. I  w^as  reminded  of  Southey's  Kehama ;  when, 
lo,  the  dream  was  rudely  broken !  They  were  talking  of 
education,  and  he  said, 

"  I  shall  not  have  Maria  brought  too  forward.  If  she 
knows  too  much,  she  will  never  find  a  husband ;  superior 
women  hardly  ever  can." 

"Surely,"  said  his  wife,  with  a  blush,  "you  wish 
Maria  to  be  as  good  and  wise  as  she  can,  whether  it  will 
help  her  to  marriage  or  not." 

"No,"  he  persisted,  "I  want  her  to  have  a  sphere 
and  a  home,  and  some  one  to  protect  her  when  I  am 
gone." 


SYMPTOMS  OF  A   CRISIS.  121 

It  was  a  trifling  incidentj  but  made  a  deep  impression. 
I  felt  that  the  holiest  relations  fail  to  instruct  the  unpre- 
pared and  perverted  mind.  If  this  man,  indeed,  could 
have  looked  at  it  on  the  other  side,  he  was  the  last  that 
wouli  have  been  willing  to  have  been  taken  himself  for 
the  home  and  protection  he  could  give,  but  would  have 
been  much  more  likely  to  repeat  the  tale  of  Alcibiades 
with  his  phials. 

But  men  do  not  look  at  both  sides,  and  women  must 
leave  off  asking  them  and  being  influenced  by  them,  but 
retire  within  themselves,  and  explore  the  ground- work  of 
life  till  they  find  their  peculiar  secret.  Then,  when  they 
come  forth  again,  renovated  and  baptized,  they  will  know 
how  to  turn  all  dross  to  gold,  and  will  be  rich  and  free  / 
though  they  live  in  a  hut,  tranquil  if  in  a  crowd.  Then 
their  sweet  singing  shall  not  be  from  passionate  impulse, 
but  the  lyrical  overflow  of  a  divine  rapture,  and  a  new 
music  shall  be  evolved  from  this  many-chorded  world. 

Grant  her,  then,  for  a  while,  the  armor  and  the  javelin. 
Let  her  put  from  her  the  press  of  other  minds,  and  medi- 
tate in  virgin  loneliness.  The  same  idea  shall  reappear 
in  due  time  as  Muse,  or  Ceres,  the  all-kindly,  patient 
Earth-Spirit. 

Among  the  throng  of  symptoms  which  denote  the  pres- 
ent tendency  to  a  crisis  in  the  life  of  Woman,  —  which 
resembles  the  change  from  girlhood,  with  its  beautiful 
instincts,  but  unharmonized  thoughts,  its  blind  pupilage 
and  restless  seeking,  to  self-possessed,  wise  and  graceful 
womanhood, —  I  have  attempted  to  select  a  few. 
11 


122  WOMAN   IN  THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

One  of  prominent  interest  is  the  unison  upon  the  sub- 
ject of  three  male  minds,  which,  for  width  of  culture, 
power  of  self-concentration  and  dignity  of  aim,  take  rank 
as  the  prophets  of  the  coming  age,  while  their  histories 
and  labors  are  rooted  in  the  past. 

Swedfinborg  came,  he  tells  us,  to  interpret  the  past  reve- 
lation and  unfold  a  new.  He  announces  the  New  Church 
that  is  to  prepare  the  way  for  the  New  Jerusalem,  a  city 
built  of  precious  stones,  hardened  and  purified  by  secret 
processes  in  the  veins  of  earth  through  the  ages. 

SAvedenborg  approximated  to  that  harmony  between 
the  scientific  and  poetic  lives  of  mind,  which  we  hope 
from  the  perfected  man.  The  links  that  bind  together 
the  realms  of  nature,  the  mysteries  that  accompany  her 
births  and  growths,  were  unusually  plain  to  him.  He 
seems  a  man  to  whom  insight  was  given  at  a  period  when 
the  mental  frame  was  sufficiently  matured  to  retain  and 
express  its  gifts.' 

His  views  of  Woman  are,  in  the  main,  satisfactory. 
In  some  details  we  may  object  to  them,  as,  in  all  his 
system,  there  are  still  remains  of  what  is  arbitrary  and 
seemingly  groundless  —  fancies  that  show  the  marks  of 
old  habits,  and  a  nature  as  yet  not  thoroughly  leavened 
with  the  spiritual  leaven.  At  least,  so  it  seems  to  me 
now.  I  speak  reverently,  for  I  find  such  reason  to  ven- 
erate Swedenborg,  from  an  imperfect  knowledge  of  his 
mind,  that  I  feel  one  more  perfect  might  explain  to  me 
much  that  does  not  now  secure  my  sympathy. 

His  idea  of  Woman  is  sufficiently  large  and  noble  to 
interpose  no  obstacle  to  her  progress.     His  idea  of  mar- 


123 


riage  is  consequently  sufficient.  Man  and  Woman  share 
an  angelic  ministry ;  the  union  is  of  one  with  one,  per- 
manent and  pure. 

As  the  New  Church  extends  its  ranks,  the  needs  of 
Woman  must  be  more  considered. 

Quakerism  also  establishes  Woman  on  a  sufficient  ? 
equality  with  Man.  But,  though  the  original  thought 
of  Quakerism  is  pure,  its  scope  is  too  narrow,  and  its  in- 
fluence, having  established  a  certain  amount  of  good  and 
made  clear  some  truth,  must,  by  degrees,  be  merged  in 
one  of  wider  range.*  The  mind  of  Swedenborg  appeals 
to  the  various  nature  of  Man,  and  allows  room  for  aesthetic 
culture  and  the  free  expression  of  energy. 

As  apostle  of  the  new  order,  of  the  social  fabric  that 
is  to  rise  from  love,  and  supersede  the  old  that  was  based 
on  strife,  Charles  Fourier  comes  next,  expressing,  in  an 
outward  order,  many  facts  of  which  Swedenborg  saw  the 
secret  springs.  The  mind  of  Fourier,  though  grand  and 
clear,  was,  in  some  respects,  superficial.  He  was  a 
stranger  to  the  highest  experiences.  His  eye  was  fixed 
on  the  outward  more  than  the  inward  needs  of  Man.  Yet 
he,  too,  was  a  seer  of  the  divine  order,  in  its  musical 
expression,  if  not  in  its  poetic  soul.  He  has  filled  one 
department  of  instruction  for  the  new  era,  and  the  har- 
mony in  action,  and  freedom  for  individual  growth,  he 
hopes  shall  exist ;  and,  if  the  methods  he  proposes  should 
not  prove  the  true  ones,  yet  his  fair  propositions  shall 

*  In  worship  at  stated  periods,  in  daily  expression,  whether  by 
word  or  deed,  the  Quakers  have  placed  Woman  on  the  same  platform 
with  Man.     Can  any  one  assert  that  they  have  reason  to  repent  this  ? 


124  WOMAN   IN  THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

give  many  hints,  and  make  room  for  the  inspiration 
needed  for  such. 

He,  too,  places  Woman  on  an  entire  equality  with 
Man,  and  wishes  to  give  to  one  as  to  the  other  that  in- 
dependence which  must  result  from  intellectual  and  prac- 
tical development.  |. 

Those  who  will  consult  him  for  no  other  reason,  might 
do  so  to  see  how  the  energies  of  Woman  may  be  made 
available  in  the  pecuniary  way.  The  object  of  Fourier 
was  to  give  her  the  needed  means  of  self-help,  that  she 
might  dignify  and  unfold  her  life  for  her  own  happiness, 
and  that  of  society.  The  many,  now,  who  see  their  daugh- 
ters liable  to  destitution,  or  vice  to  escape  from  it,  may 
be  interested  to  examine  the  means,  if  they  have  not  yet 
soul  enough  to  appreciate  the  ends  he  proposes. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  advancing  army  leads  the 
great  apostle  of  individual  culture,  Goetiie,  Swedenborg 
makes  organization  and  union  the  necessary  results  of 
solitary  thought.  Fourier,  whose  nature  was,  above  all, 
constructive,  looked  to  them  too  exclusively.  Better  in- 
stitutions, he  thought,  will  make  better  men.  Goethe 
expressed,  in  every  way,  the  other  side.  If  one  man 
could  present  better  forms,  the  rest  could  not  use  them 
till  ripe  for  them. 

Fourier  says.  As  the  institutions,  so  the  men !  All 
follies  are  excusable  and  natural  under  bad  institutions. 

Goethe  thinks,  As  the  man,  so  the  institutions  !  There 
is  no  excuse  for  ignorance  and  folly.  A  man  can  grow 
in  any  place,  if  he  will. 

Ay  !  but,  Goethe,  bad  institutions  are  prison-walls  and 


DAUGHTERS   OF   GOETHE.  125 

impure  air,  that  make  him  stupid,  so  that  he  does  not 
wiU. 

And  thou,  Fourier,  do  not  expect  to  change  mankind 
at  once,  or  even  "in  three  generations,"  by  arrange- 
ment of  groups  and  series,  or  flourish  of  trumpets  for 
pttractive  industry.  If  these  attempts  are  made  by  un- 
ready men,  they  will  fail. 

Yet  we  prize  the  theory  of  Fourier  no  less  than  the 
profound  suggestion  of  Goethe.  Both  are  educating  the 
age  to  a  clearer  consciousness  of  what  Man  needs,  what 
Man  can  be  ;  and  better  life  must  ensue. 

Goethe,  proceeding  on  his  own  track,  elevating  the 
human  being,  in  the  most  imperfect  states  of  society,  by 
continual  eiforts  at  self-culture,  takes  as  good  care  of 
women  as  of  men.  His  mother,  the  bold,  gay  Frau  Aja, 
with  such  playful  freedom  of  nature ;  the  wise  and  gentle 
maiden,  known  in  his  youth,  over  whose  sickly  solitude 
"  the  Holy  Ghost  brooded  as  a  dove  ;  "  his  sister,  the  in- 
tellectual woman  par  excellence  ;  the  Duchess  Amelia  ; 
Lili,  who  combined  the  character  of  the  woman  of  the 
world  with  the  lyrical  sweetness  of  the  shepherdess,  on 
whose  chaste  and  noble  breast  flowers  and  gems  were 
equally  at  home ;  all  these  had  supplied  abundant  sugges- 
tions to  his  mind,  as  to  the  wants  and  the  possible  excel- 
lences of  Woman.  And  from  his  poetic  soul  grew  up 
forms  new  and  more  admirable  than  life  has  yet  pro- 
duced, for  whom  his  clear  eye  marked  out  paths  in  the 
future. 

In  Faust  Margaret  represents  the  redeeming  power, 
which,  at  present,  upholds  Woman,  while  waiting  for  a 
11* 


126  WOMAN  IN  THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

better  day.  The  lovely  little  girl,  pure  in  instinct, 
ignorant  in  mind,  is  misled  and  profaned  by  man  abusing 
her  confidence.*  To  the  Mater  Dolorosa  she  appeals  for 
aid.  It  is  given  to  the  soul,  if  not  against  outward  sor- 
row ;  and  the  maiden,  enlightened  by  her  sufferings, 
refusing  to  receive  temporal  salvation  by  the  aid  of  an 
evil  power,  obtains  the  eternal  in  its  stead. 

In  the  second  part,  the  intellectual  man,  after  all  his 
manifold  strivings,  owes  to  the  interposition  of  her  whom 
he  had  betrayed  his  salvation.  She  intercedes,  this  time, 
herself  a  glorified  spirit,  with  the  Mater  Gloriosa. 

Leonora,  too,  is  Woman,  as  we  see  her  now,  pure, 
thoughtful,  refined  by  much  acquaintance  with  grief. 

Iphigenia  he  speaks  of  in  his  journals  as  his  "  daugh- 
ter," and  she  is  the  daughter  f  whom  a  man  will  wish, 
even  if  he  has  chosen  his  wife  from  very  mean  motives. 
She  is  the  virgin,  steadfast  soul,  to  whom  falsehood  is 
more  dreadful  than  any  other  death. 

But  it  is  to  Wilhelm   Meister's  Apprenticeship  and 

*  As  Faust  says,  her  only  fault  was  a  "  kindly  delusion,"  —  "  ein 
guter  wahn." 

t  Goethe  was  as  false  to  his  ideas,  in  practice,  as  Lord  Herbert.  And 
'Ms  punishment  was  the  just  and  usual  one  of  connections  formed  be- 
neath the  standard  of  right,  from  the  impulses  of  the  baser  self.  Iphi- 
genia was  the  worthy  daughter  of  his  mind  ;  but  the  son,  child  of  hia 
degrading  connection  in  actual  life,  corresponded  with  that  connection. 
This  son,  on  whom  Goethe  vainly  lavished  so  much  thought  and  care, 
was  like  his  mother,  and  like  Goethe's  attachment  for  his  mother. 
"  This  young  man,"  says  a  late  well-informed  writer  (M.  Henri 
Blaze),  *'  Wieland,  with  good  reason,  called  the  son  of  the  servant,  der 
Sohn  der  Magd.  He  inherited  from  his  father  only  his  name  and  his 
physique.** 


WILHELM  MEISTER.  127 

Wandering  Years  that  I  would  especially  refer,  as  these 
volumes  contain  the  sum  of  the  Sage's  observations  during 
a  long  life,  as  to  what  Man  should  do,  under  present  cir- 
cumstances, to  obtain  mastery  over  outward,  through  an 
initiation  into  inward  life,  and  severe  discipline  of  faculty. 

As  Wilhelm  advances  into  the  upward  path,  he  becomes 
acquainted  with  better  forms  of  Woman,  by  knowing  how 
to  seek,  and  how  to  prize  them  when  found.  For  the 
weak  and  immature  man  will,  often,  admire  a  superior 
woman,  but  he  will  not  be  able  to  abide  by  a  feeling 
which  is  too  severe  a  tax  on  his  habitual  existence.  But, 
with  Wilhelm,  the  gradation  is  natural,  and  expresses 
ascent  in  the  scale  of  being.  At  first,  he  finds  charm  in 
Mariana  and  Philina,  very  common  forms  of  feminine 
character,  not  without  redeeming  traits,  no  less  than 
charms,  but  without  wisdom  or  purity.  Soon  he  is  at- 
tended by  Mignon,  the  finest  expression  ever  yet  given 
to  what  I  have  called  the  lyrical  element  in  Woman. 
She  is  a  child,  but  too  full-grown  for  this  man  ;  he  loves, 
but  cannot  follow  her  ;  yet  is  the  association  not  without 
an  enduring  influence.  Poesy  has  been  domesticated  in 
his  life  ;  and,  though  he  strives  to  bind  down  her  heaven- 
ward impulse,  as  art  or  apothegm,  these  are  only  the 
tents,  beneath  which  he  may  sojourn  for  a  while,  but 
which  may  be  easily  struck,  and  carried  on  limitless 
wanderings. 

Advancing  into  the  region  of  thought,  he  encounters 
a  wise  philanthropy  in  Natalia  (instructed,  let  us  ob- 
serve, by  an  uticle)  ;  practical  judgment  and  the  outward 


128  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY.  , 

economy  of  life  in  Theresa :  pure  devotion  in  the  Fair 
Saint. 

Further,  and  last,  he  comes  to  the  house  of  Macaria, 
the  soul  of  a  star ;  that  is,  a  pure  and  perfected  intelli- 
gence embodied  in  feminine  form,  and  the  centre  of  a 
world  whose  members  revolve  harmoniously  around  her. 
She  instructs  him  in  the  archives  of  a  rich  human  history, 
and  introduces  him  to  the  contemplation  of  the  heavens. 

From  the  hours  passed  by  the  side  of  Mariana  to  these 
with  Macaria,  is  a  wide  distance  for  human  feet  to  trav- 
erse. Nor  has  Wilhelm  travelled  so  far,  seen  and  suffered 
so  much,  in  vain.  He  now  begins  to  study  how  he  may 
aid  the  next  generation ;  he  sees  objects  in  harmonious 
arrangement,  and  from  his  observations  deduces  precepts 
by  which  to  guide  his  course  as  a  teacher  and  a  master, 
"help-full,  comfort-full." 

In  all  these  expressions  of  Woman,  the  aim  of  Goethe 
is  satisfactory  to  me.  He  aims  at  a  pure  self-subsistence, 
and  a  free  development  of  any  powers  with  which  they 
may  be  gifted  by  nature  as  much  for  them  as  for  men. 
They  are  units,  addressed  as  souls.  Accordingly,  the 
meeting  between  Man  and  Woman,  as  represented  by 
him,  is  equal  and  noble  ;  and,  if  he  does  not  depict  mar- 
riage, he  makes  it  possible. 

In  the  Macaria,  bound  with  the  heavenly  bodies  in 
fixed  revolutions,  the  centre  of  all  relations,  herself  un- 
related, he  expresses  the  Minerva  side  of  feminine  na- 
ture. It  was  not  by  chance  that  Goethe  gave  her  this 
name.  Macaria,  the  daughter  of  Hercules,  who  offered 
herself  as  a  victim  for  the  good  of  her  country,  was  canon- 


THE  TRUE  FELICITY.  129 

ized  by  the  Greeks,  and  worshipped  as  the  Goddess  of  true 
Feh3ity.  Goethe  has  embodied  this  Felicity  as  the 
Serenity  that  arises  from  Wisdom,  a  Wisdom  such  as  the 
Jewish  wise  man  venerated,  alike  instructed  in  the  designs 
of  heaven,  and  the  methods  necessary  to  caiTy  them  into 
eflfect  upon  earth. 

Mignon  is  the  electrical,  inspired,  lyrical  nature.  And 
wherever  it  appears  we  echo  in  our  aspirations  that  of  the 
child, 

**  So  let  me  seem  until  I  be  :  — 

Take  not  the  white  robe  away.'* 
***** 
"  Though  I  lived  without  care  and  toil. 

Yet  felt  I  sharp  pain  enough  : 

Make  me  again  forever  young." 

All  these  women,  though  we  see  them  in  relations,  we 
can  think  of  as  unrelated.  They  all  are  very  individual, 
yet  seem  nowhere  restrained.  They  satisfy  for  the  present, 
yet  arouse  an  infinite  expectation. 

The  economist  Theresa,  the  benevolent  Natalia,  the 
fair  Saint,  have  chosen  a  path,  but  their  thoughts  are  not 
narrowed  to  it.  The  functions  of  life  to  them  are  not 
ends,  but  suggestions. 

Thus,  to  them,  all  things  are  important,  because  none 
is  necessary.  Their  different  characters  have  fair  play, 
and  each  is  beautiful  in  its  minute  indications,  for  nothing 
is  enforced  or  conventional ;  but  everything,  however 
slight,  grows  from  the  essential  life  of  the  being. 

Mignon  and  Theresa  wear  male  attire  when  they  like, 
and  it  is  graceful  for  them  to  do  so,  while  Macaria  is 


130         WOMAN  IN  THE  NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

confined  to  her  arm-chair  behind  the  green  curtain,  and 
the  Fair  Saint  could  not  bear  a  speck  of  dust  on  her  robe. 

All  things  are  in  their  places  in  this  little  world,  be- 
cause all  is  natural  and  free,  just  as  "  there  is  room  for 
everything  out  of  doors."  Yet  all  is  rounded  in  by 
natural  harmony,  which  will  always  arise  where  Truth 
and  Love  are  sought  in  the  light  of  Freedom. 

Goethe's  book  bodes  an  era  of  freedom  like  its  own  of 
''  extraordinary,  generous  seeking,"  and  new  revelations. 
New  individualities  shall  be  developed  in  the  actual 
world,  which  shall  advance  upon  it  as  gently  as  the 
figures  come  out  upon  his  canvas. 

I  have  indicated  on  this  point  the  coincidence  between 
his  hopes  and  those  of  Fourier,  though  his  are  directed 
by  an  infinitely  higher  and  deeper  knowledge  of  human 
nature.  But,  for  our  present  purpose,  it  is  sufiicient  to 
show  how  surely  these  difierent  paths  have  conducted  to 
the  same  end  two  earnest  thinkers.  In  some  other  place 
I  wish  to  point  out  similar  coincidences  between  Goethe's 
model  school  and  the  plans  of  Fourier,  which  may  cast 
light  upon  the  page  of  prophecy. 

Many  women  have  observed  that  the  time  drew  nigh 
for  a  better  care  of  the  sex,  and  have  thrown  out  hints 
that  may  be  useful.     Among  these  may  be  mentioned  — 

Miss  Edgeworth,  who,  although  restrained  by  the 
habits  of  her  age  and  country,  and  belonging  more  to  the 
eighteenth  than  the  nineteenth  century,  has  done  excel- 
lently as  far  as  she  goes.  She  had  a  horror  of  sentiment- 
alism.  and  of  the  love  of  notoriety,  and  saw  how  likely 


MRS.    JAMESON.  131 

women,  in  the  early  stages  of  culture,  were  to  aim  at 
these.  Therefore  she  bent  her  efforts  to  recommending 
domestic  life.  But  the  methods  she  recommends  are  such 
as  will  fit  a  character  for  any  position  to  which  it  may  he 
called.  She  taught  a  contempt  of  falsehood,  no  less  in 
its  most  graceful,  than  in  its  meanest  apparitions ;  the 
cultivation  of  a  clear,  independent  judgment,  and  adher- 
ence to  its  dictates ;  habits  of  various  and  liberal  study 
and  employment,  and  a  capacity  for  friendship.  Her 
standard  of  character  is  the  same  for  both  sexes, —  Truth, 
honor,  enlightened  benevolence,  and  aspiration  after 
knowledge.  Of  poetry,  she  knows  nothing,  and  her 
religion  consists  in  honor  and  loyalty  to  obligations  once 
assumed — in  short,  in  "the  great  idea  of  duty  which 
holds  us  upright."     Her  whole  tendency  is  practical. 

Mrs.  Jameson  is  a  sentimentalist,  and,  therefore,  suits 
us  ill  in  some  respects,  but  she  is  full  of  talent,  has  a 
just  and  refined  perception  of  the  beautiful,  and  a  genu- 
ine courage  when  she  finds  it  necessary.  She  does  not 
appear  to  have  thought  out,  thoroughly,  the  subject  on 
which  we  are  engaged,  and  her  opinions,  expressed  as 
opinions,  are  sometimes  inconsistent  with  one  another. 
But  from  the  refined  perception  of  character,  admirable 
suggestions  are  given  in  her  "  Women  of  Shakspeare." 
and  ''  Loves  of  the  Poets." 

But  that  for  which  I  most  respect  her  is  the  decision 
with  which  she  speaks  on  a  subject  which  refined  women 
are  usually  afraid  to  approach,  for  fear  of  the  insult  and 
scurrile  jest  they  may  encounter ;  but  on  which  she 
neither  can  nor  will  restrain  the  indignation  of  a  full 


132         WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

heart.  I  refer  to  the  degradation  of  a  large  portion  of 
women  into  the  sold  and  polluted  slaves  of  men,  and  the 
daring  with  which  the  legislator  and  man  of  the  world 
lifts  his  head  beneath  the  heavens,  and  says,  "  This  must 
be ;  it  cannot  be  helped ;  it  is  a  necessary  accompaniment 
of  civilization.^^ 

So  speaks  the  citizen.  Man  born  of  Woman,  the 
father  of  daughters,  declares  that  he  will  and  must  buy 
the  comforts  and  commercial  advantages  of  his  London, 
Vienna,  Paris,  New  York,  by  conniving  at  the  moral 
death,  the  damnation,  so  far  as  the  action  of  society  can 
insure  it,  of  thousands  of  women  for  each  splendid  me- 
tropolis. 

0  men !  I  speak  not  to  you.  It  is  true  that  your 
wickedness  (for  you  must  not  deny  that  at  least  nine 
thousand  out  of  the  ten  fall  through  the  vanity  you 
have  systematically  flattered,  or  the  promises  you  have 
treacherously  broken)  ;  yes,  it  is  true  that  your  wicked 
ness  is  its  own  punishment.  Your  forms  degraded  and 
your  eyes  clouded  by  secret  sin ;  natural  harmony  broken 
and  fineness  of  perception  destroyed  in  your  mental  and 
bodily  organization ;  God  and  love  shut  out  from  your 
hearts  by  the  foul  visitants  you  have  permitted  there; 
incapable  of  pure  marriage ;  incapable  of  pure  parentage ; 
incapable  of  worship ;  0  wretched  men,  your  sin  is  its 
own  punishment !  You  have  lost  the  world  in  losing 
yourselves.  Who  ruins  another  has  admitted  the  worm 
to  the  root  of  his  own  tree,  and  the  fuller  ye  fill  the  cup 
of  evil,  the  deeper  must  be  your  own  bitter  draught.  But 
I  speak  not  to  you  —  you  need  to  teach  and  warn  one 


WOMEN   NOT  ADDRESSED   IN   VAIN.  133 

another.  And  more  than  one  voice  rises  in  earnestness. 
And  all  that  women,  say  to  the  heart  that  has  once  cho- 
sen the  evil  path  is  considered  prudery,  or  ignorance,  or 
perhaps  a  feebleness  of  nature  which  exempts  from  simi- 
lar temptations. 

But  to  you,  women,  American  women,  a  few  words 
may  not  be  addressed  in  vain.  One  here  and  there  may 
listen. 

You  know  how  it  was  in  the  Oriental  clime.  One 
man,  if  wealth  permitted,  had  several  wives  and  many 
handmaidens.  The  chastity  and  equality  of  genuine 
marriage,  with  "the  thousand  decencies  that  flow"  from 
its  communion,  the  precious  virtues  that  gradually  may 
be  matured  within  its  enclosure,  were  unknown. 

But  this  man  did  not  wrong  according  to  his  light. 
What  he  did,  he  might  publish  to  God  and  Man  ;  it  was 
not  a  wicked  secret  that  hid  in  vile  lurking-places  and 
dens,  like  the  banquets  of  beasts  of  prey.  Those  women 
were  not  lost,  not  polluted  in  their  own  eyes,  nor  those 
of  others.  If  they  were  not  in  a  state  of  knowledge  and 
virtue,  they  were  at  least  in  one  of  comparative  innocence. 

You  know  how  it  was  with  the  natives  of  this  con- 
tinent. A  chief  had  many  wives,  whom  he  maintained 
and  who  did  his  household  work ;  those  women  were  but 
servants,  still  they  enjoyed  the  respect  of  others  and 
their  own.  They  lived  together '  in  peace.  They  knew 
that  a  sin  against  what  was  in  their  nation  esteemed 
virtue,  would  be  as  strictly  punished  in  Man  as  in  Woman. 

Now  pass  to  the  countries  where  marriage  is  between 

one  and  one.     I  will  not  speak  of  the  Pagan  nations, 
12 


134  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY 

but  come  to  those  which  own  the  Christian  rule.  We  all 
know  what  that  enjoins  ;  there  is  a  standard  to  appeal  to. 

See,  now,  not  the  mass  of  the  people,  for  we  all  know 
that  it  is  a  proverb  and  a  bitter  jest  to  speak  of  the 
"  down- trodden  million."  We  know  that,  down  to  our 
own  time,  a  principle  never  had  so  fair  a  chance  to  per- 
vade the  mass  of  the  people,  but  that  we  must  solicit  its 
illustration  from  select  examples. 

Take  the  Paladin,  take  the  Poet.  Did  they  believe 
puritj  more  impossible  to  Man  than  to  Woman?  Did 
they  wish  "Woman  to  believe  that  Man  was  less  amenable 
to  higher  motives, —  that  pure  aspirations  would  not  guard 
him  against  bad  passions, —  that  honorable  employments 
and  temperate  habits  would  not  keep  him  free  from  slavery 
to  the  body  ?  0  no  !  Love  was  to  them  a  part  of  hea- 
ven, and  they  could  not  even  wish  to  receive  its  happiness, 
unless  assured  of  being  worthy  of  it.  Its  highest  hap- 
piness to  them  was  that  it  made  them  wish  to  be  worthy. 
They  courted  probation.  They  wished  not  the  title  of 
knight  till  the  banner  had  been  upheld  in  the  heats  of 
battle,  amid  the  rout  of  cowards. 

I  ask  of  you,  young  girls  —  I  do  not  mean  you  whose 
heart  is  that  of  an  old  coxcomb,  though  your  locks  have 
not  yet  lost  their  sunny  tinge.  Not  of  you  whose  whole 
character  is  tainted  with  vanity,  inherited  or  taught,  who 
have  early  learned  the  love  of  coquettish  excitement,  and 
whose  eyes  rove  restlessly  in  search  of  a  "  conquest  "  or  a 
"  beau  ;"  you  who  are  ashamed  not  to  be  seen  by  others 
the  mark  of  the  most  contemptuous  flattery  or » injurious 
desire.     To  such  I  do  not  speak.     But  to  thee,  maiden, 


MAN   IS   NOT   OF   SATYR   DESCENT.  135 

who,  if  not  so  fair,  art  yet  of  that  unpolluted  nature 
which  Milton  saw  when  he  dreamed  of  Comus  and  the 
Paradise.  Thou,  child  of  an  unprofaned  wedlock,  brought 
up  amid  the  teachings  of  the  woods  and  fields,  kept 
fancy-free  by  useful  employment  and  a  free  flight  into 
the  heaven  of  thought,  loving  to  please  only  those  whom 
thou  wouldst  not  be  ashamed  to  love;  I  ask  of  thee, 
whose  cheek  has  not  forgotten  its  blush  nor  thy  heart  its 
lark-like  hopes,  if  he  whom  thou  mayest  hope  the  Father 
will  send  thee,  as  the  companion  of  life's  toils  and  joys, 
is  not  to  thy  thought  pure  ?  Is  not  manliness  to  thy 
thought  purity,  not  lawlessness?  Can  his  lips  speak 
falsely  ?  Can  he  do,  in  secret,  what  he  could  not  avow 
to  the  mother  that  bore  him  ?  0  say,  dost  thou  not  look 
for  a  heart  free,  open  as  thine  own,  all  whose  thoughts 
may  be  avowed,  incapable  of  wronging  the  innocent,  or 
still  further  degrading  the  fallen  —  a  man,  in  short,  in 
whom  brute  nature  is  entirely  subject  to  the  impulses  of 
his  better  self? 

Yes!  it  was  thus  that  thou  didst  hope;  for  I  have 
many,  many  times  seen  the  image  of  a  future  life,  of  a 
destined  spouse,  painted  on  the  tablets  of  a  virgin  heart. 

It  might  be  that  she  was  not  true  to  these  hopes.  She 
was  taken  into  what  is  called  "the  world,"  froth  and 
scum  as  it  mostly  is  on  the  social  caldron.  There,  she 
saw  fair  Woman  carried  in  the  waltz  close  to  the  heart  of 
a  being  who  appeared  to  her  a  Satyr.  Being  warned  by 
a  male  friend  that  he  was  in  fact  of  that  class,  and  not  fit 
for  such  familiar  nearness  to  a  chaste  being,  the  advised 
replied  that  "  women  should  know  nothing  about  such 


136  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

things.'^  She  saw  one  fairer  given  in  wedlock  to  a  man 
of  the  same  class.  "  Papa  and  mamma  said  that  '  all 
men  were  faulty  at  some  time  in  their  lives ;  thej  had 
a  great  many  temptations.'  Frederick  would  be  so  happy 
at  home ;  he  would  not  want  to  do  wrong."  She  turned 
to  the  married  women ;  they,  0  tenfold  horror  !  laughed 
at  her  supposing  "  men  were  like  women."  Sometimes, 
I  say,  she  was  not  true,  and  either  sadly  accommodated 
herself  to  "  Woman's  lot,"  or  acquired  a  taste  for  satyr- 
society,  like  some  of  the  Nymphs,  and  all  the  Bacchanals 
of  old.  But  to  those  who  could  not  and  would  not 
accept  a  mess  of  pottage,  or  a  Circe  cup,  in  lieu  of  their 
birthright,  and  to  these  others  who  have  yet  their  choice 
to  make,  I  say,  Courage  !  I  have  some  words  of  cheer 
for  you.  A  man,  himself  of  unbroken  purity,  reported 
to  me  the  words  of  a  foreign  artist,  that  "the  world 
would  never  be  better  till  men  subjected  themselves  to 
the  same  laws  they  had  imposed  on  women ;"  that  artist, 
he  added,  was  true  to  the  thought.  The  same  was  true 
of  Canova,  the  same  of  Beethoven.  "  Like  each  other 
demi-god,  they  kept  themselves  free  from  stain;"  and 
Michael  Angelo,  looking  over  here  from  the  loneliness 
of  his  century,  might  meet  some  eyes  that  need  not  shun 
his  glance. 

In  private  life,  I  am  assured  by  men  who  are  not  so 
sustained  and  occupied  by  the  worship  of  pure  beauty, 
that  a  similar  consecration  is  possible,  is  practised  ;  that 
many  men  feel  that  no  temptation  can  be  too  strong  for 
the  will  of  man,  if  he  invokes  the  aid  of  the  Spirit 
instead  of  seeking  extenuation  from  the  brute  alliances 


LH'B  A  HOLY  TEMPLE.  137 

of  his  nature.  In  short,  what  the  child  fancies  is  really 
true,  though  almost  the  whole  world  declares  it  a  lie. 
Man  is  a  child  of  God ;  and  if  he  seeks  His  guidance  to 
keep  the  heart  with  diligence,  it  will  be  so  given  that  all 
the  issues  of  life  may  be  pure.  Life  will  then  be  a 
temple. 

The  temple  round 
Spread  green  the  pleasant  ground  ; 

The  fair  colonnade 
Be  of  pure  marble  pillars  made  ; 
Strong  to  sustain  the  roof, 

^   Time  and  tempest  proof ; 
Yet,  amidst  which,  the  lightest  breeze 

Can  play  as  it  please  ; 

The  audience  hall 

Be  free  to  all 

Who  revere 
The  power  worshipped  here. 

Sole  guide  of  youth. 

Unswerving  Truth. 

In  the  inmost  shrine 

Stands  the  image  divine, 
Only  seen 
By  those  whose  deeds  have  worthy  been  — 

Priestlike  clean. 
Those,  who  initiated  are. 

Declare, 

As  the  hours 
Usher  in  varying  hopes  and  powers  ; 

It  changes  its  face. 
It  changes  its  age. 

Now  a  young,  beaming  grace. 
Now  Nestorian  sage  : 

But,  to  the  pure  in  heart, 

This  shape  of  primal  art 

12* 


138  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

In  age  is  fair, 

In  youth  seems  wise. 
Beyond  compare, 
Above  surprise ; 
What  it  teaches  native  seems, 

Its  new  lore  our  ancient  dreams  ; 
Incense  rises  from  the  ground  ; 
Music  flows  around  ; 
Firm  rest  the  feet  below,  clear  gaze  the  eyes  above, 
When  Truth,  to  point  the  way  through  life,  assumes  the  wand  of  Love; 
But,  if  she  cast  aside  the  robe  of  green. 
Winter's  silver  sheen. 
White,  pure  as  light. 
Makes  gentle  shroud  as  worthy  weed  as  bridal  robe  had  been.* 

We  are  now  in  a  transition  state,  and  but  few  steps 
have  yet  been  taken.  From  polygamy,  Europe  passed 
to  the  marriage  de  convenmice.  This  was  scarcely  an 
improvement.  An  attempt  was  then  made  to  substitute 
genuine  marriage  (the  mutual  choice  of  souls  inducing 
a  permanent  union),  as  yet  baffled  on  every  side  by  the 
haste,  the  ignorance,  or  the  impurity  of  Man. 

Where  Man  assumes  a  high  principle  to  which  he  is 
not  yet  ripened,  it  will  happen,  for  a  long  time,  that  the 
few  will  be  nobler  than  before ;  the  many,  worse.  Thus 
now.     In  the  country  of  Sidney  and  Milton,  the  metrop- 

*  As  described  by  the  historian  :  — 
**  The  temple  of  Juno  is  like  what  the  character  of  Woman  should  be. 

Columns  !  graceful  decorums,  attractive  yet  sheltering. 

Porch  !  noble,  inviting  aspect  of  the  life. 

Kaos !  receives  the  worshippers.  See  here  the  statue  of  the 
Divinity. 

Ophistodomos !  Sanctuary  where  the  most  precious  possessions 
were  kept  safe  from  the  hand  of  the  spoiler  and  the  eye  of  the  world." 


INCREASED  ATTENTION  TO  PURITY.      139 

olis  is  a  den  of  wickedness,  and  a  sty  of  sensuality ;  in 
the  country  of  Lady  Russell,  the  custom  of  English 
peeresses,  of  selling  their  daughters  to  the  highest  bidder, 
is  made  the  theme  and  jest  of  fashionable  novels  by 
unthinking  children  who  would  stare  at  the  idea  of  send- 
ing them  to  a  Turkish  slave-dealer,  though  the  circum- 
stances of  the  bargain  are  there  less  degrading,  as  the 
will  and  thoughts  of  the  person  sold  are  not  so  degraded 
by  it,  and  it  is  not  done  in  defiance  of  an  acknowledged 
law  of  right  in  the  land  and  the  age. 

I  must  here  add  that  I  do  not  believe  there  ever  was 
put  upon  record  more  depravation  of  Man,  and  more 
despicable  frivolity  of  thought  and  aim  in  Woman,  than 
in  the  novels  which  purport  to  give  the  picture  of  Eng- 
lish fashionable  life,  which  are  read  with  such  favor  in 
our  drawing-rooms,  and  give  the  tone  to  the  manners  of 
some  circles.  Compared  with  the  cold,  hard-hearted 
folly  there  described,  crime  is  hopeful ;  for  it,  at  least, 
shows  some  power  remaining  in  the  mental  constitution. 

To  return :  —  Attention  has  been  awakened  among  men 
to  the  stains  of  celibacy,  and  the  profanations  of  mar- 
riage. They  begin  to  write  about  it  and  lecture  about  it. 
It  is  the  tendency  now  to  endeavor  to  help  the  erring  by 
showing  them  the  physical  law.  This  is  wise  and  excel- 
lent ;  but  forget  not  the  better  half  Cold  bathing  and 
exercise  will  not  suffice  to  keep  a  life  pure,  without  an 
inward  baptism,  and  noble,  exhilarating  employment  for 
the  thoughts  and  the  passions.  Early  marriages  are 
desirable,  but  if  (and  the  world  is  now  so  out  of  joint  that 
there  are  a  hundred  thousand  chances  to  one  against  it) 


140  WOMAN  IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

a  man  does  not  early,  or  at  all,  find  the  person  to  whom 
he  can  be  united  in  the  marriage  of  souls,  will  you  give 
him  in  the  marriage  de  convenance  ?  or,  if  not  married, 
can  you  find  no  way  for  him  to  lead  a  virtuous  and 
happy  life  ?  Think  of  it  well,  ye  who  think  yourselves 
better  than  pagans,  for  many  of  them  knew  this  sure 
way.* 

To  you,  women  of  America,  it  is  more  especially  my 
business  to  address  myself  on  this  subject,  and  my  advice 
may  be  classed  under  three  heads : 

Clear  your  souls  from  the  taint  of  vanity. 

Do  not  rejoice  in  conquests,  either  that  your  power 
to  allure  may  be  seen  by  other  women,  or  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  rousing  passionate  feelings  that  gratify  your  love 
of  excitement.  ^ 

It  must  happen,  no  doubt,  that  frank  and  generous 
women  will  excite  love  they  do  not  reciprocate,  but,  in  nine 
cases  out  of  ten,  the  woman  has,  half  consciously,  done 
much  to  excite.  In  this  case,  she  shall  not  be  held  guilt- 
less, either  as  to  the  unhappiness  or  injury  of  the  lover. 
Pure  love,  inspired  by  a  worthy  object,  must  ennoble 

*  The  Persian  sacred  books,  the  Desatir,  describe  the  great  and  holy 
prince  Ky  Khosrou,  as  being  '*  an  angel,  and  the  son  of  an  angel,"  one 
to  whom  the  Supreme  says,  "  Thou  art  not  absent  from  before  me  for 
one  twinkling  of  an  eye.  I  am  never  out  of  thy  heart.  And  I  am 
contained  in  nothing  but  in  thy  heart,  and  in  a  heart  like  thy  heart. 
And  I  am  nearer  unto  thee  than  thou  art  to  thyself."  This  prince 
had  in  his  Golden  Seraglio  three  ladies  of  surpassing  beauty,  and  all 
four,  in  this  royal  monastery,  passed  their  lives,  and  left  the  world  as 
virgins. 

The  Persian  people  had  no  scepticism  when  the  history  of  such  a 
mind  was  narrated. 


THE   OLD   MAN  ELOQUENT.  141 

and  bless,  whether  mutual  or  not;  but  that  which  is 
excited  by  coquettish  attraction  of  any  grade  of  refine- 
ment, must  cause  bitterness  and  doubt,  as  to  the  reality 
of  human  goodness,  so  soon  as  the  flush  of  passion  is 
over.  And,  that  you  may  avoid  all  taste  for  these  false 
pleasures, 

"  Steep  the  soul 
In  one  pure  love,  and  it  will  last  thee  long." 

The  love  of  truth,  the  love  of  excellence,  whether 
you  clothe  them  in  the  person  of  a  special  object  or  not, 
will  have  power  to  save  you  from  following  Duessa, 
and  lead  you  in  the  green  glades  where  Una's  feet  have 
trod. 

It  was  on  this  one  subject  that  a  venerable  champion 
of  good,  the  last  representative  of  the  spirit  which  sancti- 
fied the  Revolution,  and  gave  our  country  such  a  sunlight 
of  hope  in  the  eyes  of  the  nations,  the  same  who  lately, 
in  Boston,  ofiered  anew  to  the  young  men  the  pledge 
taken  by  the  young  men  of  his  day,  offered,  also,  his 
counsel,  on  being  addressed  by  the  principal  of  a  girl's 
school,  thus :  —   • 

REPLY   OF   MR.    ADAMS. 

Mr.  Adams  was  so  deeply  affected  by  the  address  of 
Miss  Foster,  as  to  be  for  some  time  inaudible.  When 
heard,  he  spoke  as  follows  : 

"  This  is  the  first  instance  in  which  a  lady  has  thus 
addressed  me  personally ;  and  I  trust  that  all  the  ladies 
present  will  be  able  sufficiently  to  enter  into  my  feelings 


142  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

to  know  that  I  am  more  affected  by  this  honor  than  by 
any  other  I  could  have  received. 

"  You  have  been  pleased,  madam,  to  allude  to  the 
character  of  my  father,  and  the  history  of  my  family,  and 
their  services  to  the  country.  It  is  indeed  true  that, 
from  the  existence  of  the  republic  as  an  independent 
nation,  my  father  and  myself  have  been  in  the  public 
service  of  the  country,  almost  without  interruption.  I 
came  into  the  world,  as  a  person  having  personal  respon- 
sibilities, with  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  which 
constituted  us  a  nation.  I  was  a  child  at  that  time,  and 
had  then  perhaps  the  greatest  of  blessings  that  can  be 
bestowed  on  man  —  a  mother  who  was  anxious  and  capa- 
ble to  form  her  children  to  be  what  they  ought  to  be. 
From  that  mother  I  derived  whatever  instruction  — 
religious  especially  and  moral  —  has  pervaded  a  long 
life  ;  I  will  not  say  perfectly,  and  as  it  ought  to  be  ;  but 
I  will  say,  because  it  is  justice  only  to  the  memory  of  her 
whom  I  revere,  that  if,  in  the  course  of  my  life,  there 
has  been  any  imperfection,  or  deviation  from  what  she 
taught  me,  the  fault  is  mine,  and  not  hers. 

"  With  such  a  mother,  and  such  other  relations  with 
the  sex,  of  sister,  wife,  and  daughter,  it  has  been  the 
perpetual  instruction  of  my  life  to  love  and  revere  the 
female  sex.  And  in  order  to  carry  that  sentiment  of 
love  and  reverence  to  its  highest  degree  of  perfection,  I 
know  of  nothing  that  exists  in  human  society  better 
adapted  to  produce  that  result,  than  institutions  of  the 
character  that  I  have  now  the  honor  to  address. 

''  I  have  been  taught,   as  I  have  said,  through  the 


FLATTERY  NOT  PROOF  OF  PERFECTION.    143 

course  of  mj  life,  to  love  and  to  revere  the  female  sex ; 
but  I  have  been  taught,  also  —  and  that  lesson  has  per- 
haps impressed  itself  on  my  mind  even  more  strongly, 
it  may  be,  than  the  other  —  I  have  been  taught  not  to 
flatter  them.  It  is  not  unusual,  in  the  intercourse  of 
Man  with  the  other  sex  —  and  especially  for  young  men 
—  to  think  that  the  way  to  win  the  hearts  of  ladies  is  by 
flattery.  To  love  and  to  revere  the  sex,  is  what  I  think 
the  duty  of  Man ;  but  ?iot  to  fatter  them  ;  and  this  I 
would  say  to  the  young  ladies  here  —  and  if  they,  and 
others  present,  will  allow  me,  w^ith  all  the  authority 
which  nearly  four  score  years  may  have  with  those  who 
have  not  yet  attained  one  score  —  I  would  say  to  them 
what  I  have  no  doubt  they  say  to  themselves,  and  are 
taught  here,  not  to  take  the  flattery  of  men  as  proof  of 
perfection. 

"I  am  now,  however,  I  fear,  assuming  too  much  of 
a  character  that  does  not  exactly  belong  to  me.  I  there- 
fore conclude,  by  assuring  you,  madam,  that  your  recep- 
tion of  me  has  affected  me,  as  you  perceive,  more  than  I 
can  express  in  words ;  and  that  I  shall  offer  my  best 
prayers,  till  my  latest  hour,  to  the  Creator  of  us  all,  that 
this  institution  especially,  and  all  others  of  a  similar 
kind,  designed  to  form  the  female  mind  to  wisdom  and 
virtue,  may  prosper  to  the  end  of  time." 

It  will  be  interesting  to  add  here  the  character  of  Mr. 
Adams'  mother,  as  drawn  by  her  husband,  the  first  John 
Adams,  in  a  family  letter  *  written  just  before  his  death. 

"  I  have  reserved  for  the  last  the  life  of  Lady  Russell. 

*  Journal  and  Correspondence  of  Miss  Adams,  vol.  i.,  p.  246. 


144  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

This  I  have  not  yet  read,  because  I  read  it  more  than 
forty  years  ago.  On  this  hangs  a  tale  which  you  ought 
to  know  and  communicate  it  to  your  children.  I  bought 
the  Life  and  Letters  of  Lady  Russell  in  the  year  1775, 
and  sent  it  to  your  grandmother,  wuth  an  express  intent 
and  desire  that  she  should  consider  it  a  mirror  in  which 
to  contemplate  herself;  for,  at  that  time,  I  thought  it 
extremely  probable,  from  the  daring  and  dangerous 
career  I  was  determined  to  run,  that  she  would  one  day 
find  herself  in  the  situation  of  Lady  Russell,  her  husband 
without  a  head.  This  lady  was  more  beautiful  than 
Lady  Russell,  had  a  brighter  genius,  more  information, 
a  more  refined  taste,  and,  at  least,  her  equal  in  the  vir- 
tues of  the  heart ;  equal  fortitude  and  firmness  of  charac- 
ter, equal  resignation  to  the  will  of  Heaven,  equal  in  all 
the  virtues  and  graces  of  the  Christian  life.  Like  Lady 
Russell,  she  never,  by  word  or  look,  discouraged  me 
from  running  all  hazards  for  the  salvation  of  my  coun- 
try's liberties ;  she  was  willing  to  share  with  me,  and 
that  her  children  should  share  with  us  both,  in  all  the 
dangerous  consequences  we  had  to  hazard." 

Will  a  w^oman  who  loves  flattery  or  an  aimless  excite- 
ment, who  wastes  the  flower  of  her  mind  on  transitory 
sentiments,  ever  be  loved  with  a  love  like  that,  when  fifty 
years'  trial  have  entitled  to  the  privileges  of  ''  the  golden 
marriage  ?  " 

Such  was  the  love  of  the  iron-handed  warrior  for  her, 
not  his  hand-maid,  but  his  help-meet : 

"  Whom  God  loves,  to  him  gives  he  such  a  wife." 

I  find  the  whole  of  what  I  want  in  this  relation,  in  the 


IMMORTAL  EVE.  145 

two  epithets  bj  which  Milton  makes  Adam  address  his 
wife. 

In  the  intercourse  of  every  day  he  begins  : 

**  Daughter  of  God  and  man,  accomplished  Eve."  * 

In  a  moment  of  stronger  feeling, 

"  Daughter  of  God  and  man,  immortal  Eve.'* 

What  majesty  in  the  cadence  of  the  line;  what  dignity, 
what  reverence  in  the  attitude  both  of  giver  and  receiver  ! 

The  woman  who  permits,  in  her  life,  the  alloy  of  van- 
ity ;  the  woman  who  lives  upon  flattery,  coarse  or  fine, 
shall  never  be  thus  addressed.  She  is  not  immortal  so 
far  as  her  will  is  concerned,  and  every  woman  who  does 
so  creates  miasma,  whose  spread  is  indefinite.  The  hand 
which  casts  into  the  waters  of  life  a  stone  of  offence 
knows  not  how  far  the  circles  thus  caused  may  spread 
their  agitations. 

A  little  while  since  I  was  at  one  of  the  most  fashion- 
able places  of  public  resort.  I  saw  there  many  women, 
dressed  without  regard  to  the  season  or  the  demands  of 
the  place,  in  apery,  or,  as  it  looked,  in  mockery,  of  Eu- 
ropean fashions.  I  saw  their  eyes  restlessly  courting 
attention.  I  saw  the  way  in  which  it  was  paid ;  the 
style  of  devotion,  almost  an  open  sneer,  which  it  pleased 
those  ladies  to  receive  from  men  whose  expression  marked 
their  own  low  position  in  the  moral  and  intellectual 
world.     Those  women  went  to  their  pillows  with  their 

*  See  Appendix  H. 

13 


146  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENIURr. 

heads  full  of  folly,  their  hearts  of  jealousy,  or  gratified 
vanity ;  those  men,  with  the  low  opinion  they  already 
entertained  of  Woman  confirmed.  These  were  American 
ladies ;  that  is,  they  were  of  that  class  who  have  wealth 
and  leisure  to  make  full  use  of  the  day,  and  confer  bene- 
fits on  others.  They  were  of  that  class  whom  the  posses- 
sion of  external  advantages  makes  of  pernicious  example 
to  many,  if  these  advantages  be  misused. 

Soon  after,  I  met  a  circle  of  women,  stamped  by  society 
as  among  the  most  degraded  of  their  sex.  "  How,"  it 
was  asked  of  them,  ''  did  you  come  here  ?  "  for  by  the 
society  that  1  saw  in  the  former  place  they  were  shut  up 
in  a  prison.  The  causes  were  not  difficult  to  trace  :  love 
of  dress,  love  of  flattery,  love  of  excitement.  They  had 
not  dresses  like  the  other  ladies,  so  they  stole  them  ;  they 
could  not  pay  for  flattery  by  distinctions,  and  the  dower 
of  a  worldly  marriage,  so  they  paid  by  the  profanation 
of  their  persons.  In  excitement,  more  and  more  madly 
sought  from  day  to  day,  they  drowned  the  voice  of  con- 
science. 

Now  1  ask  you,  my  sisters,  if  the  women  at  the  fash- 
ionable house  be  not  answerable  for  those  women  being  in 
the  prison  ? 

As  to  position  in  the  world  of  souls,  we  may  sup- 
pose the  women  of  the  prison  stood  fairest,  both  because 
they  had  misused  less  light,  and  because  loneliness  and 
sorrow  had  brought  some  of  them -to  feel  the  need  of  bet- 
ter life,  nearer  truth  and  good.  This  was  no  merit  in 
them,  being  an  efiect  of  circumstance,  but  it  was  hopeful. 
But  you,  my  friends  (and  some  of  you  I  have  already 


LIFT  UP  THE  FALLEK.  147 

met),  consecrate  yourselves  without  waiting  for  re- 
proof, in  free  love  and  unbroken  energy,  to  win  and  to 
diffuse  a  better  life.  Offer  beauty,  talents,  riches,  on  the 
altar  ;  thus  shall  ye  keep  spotless  your  own  hearts,  and 
be  visibly  or  invisibly  the  angels  to  others. 

I  would  urge  upon  those  women  who  have  not  yet  con- 
sidered this  subject,  to  do  so.  Do  not  forget  the  unfor- 
tunates who  dare  not  cross  your  guarded  way.  If  it  do 
not  suit  you  to  act  with  those  who  have  organized 
measures  of  reform,  then  hold  not  yourself  excused  from 
acting  in  private.  Seek  out  these  degraded  women,  give 
them  tender  sympathy,  counsel*  employment.  Take  the 
place  of  mothers,  such  as  might  have  saved  them 
originally. 

If  you  can  do  little  for  those  already  under  the  ban  of 
the  world,  —  and  the  best-considered  efforts  have  often 
failed,  from  a  want  of  strength  in  those  unhappy  ones  to 
bear  up  against  the  sting  of  shame  and  the  prejudices  of 
the  world,  which  makes  them  seek  oblivion  again  in  their 
old  excitements,  —  you  will  at  least  leave  a  sense  of  love 
and  justice  in  their  hearts,  that  will  prevent  their  becom- 
ing utterly  embittered  and  corrupt.  And  you  may  learn 
the  means  of  prevention  for  those  yet  uninjured.  These 
will  be  found  in  a  diffusion  of  mental  culture,  simple 
tastes,  best  taught  by  your  example,  a  genuine  self- 
respect,  and,  above  all,  what  the  influence  of  Man  tends 
to  hide  from  Woman,  the  love  and  fear  of  a  divine,  in 
preference  to  a  human  tribunal. 

But  suppose  you  save  many  who  would  have  lost  their 
bodily  innocence   (for  as  to  mental,  the  loss  of  that  is 


148  WOMAN  IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

incalculably  more  general),  through  mere  vanity  and 
folly  ;  there  still  remain  many,  the  prey  and  spoil  of  the 
brute  passions  of  Man ;  for  the  stories  frequent  in  our 
newspapers  outshame  antiquity,  and  vie  with  the  horrors 
of  war. 

As  to  this,  it  must  be  considered  that,  as  the  vanity 
and  proneness  to  seduction  of  the  imprisoned  women 
represented  a  general  degradation  in  their  sex ;  so  do 
these  acts  a  still  more  general  and  worse  in  the  male. 
Where  so  many  are  weak,  it  is  natural  there  should  be 
many  lost ;  where  legislators  admit  that  ten  thousand 
prostitutes  are  a  fair  proportion  to  one  city,  and  husbands 
tell  their  wives  that  it  is  folly  to  expect  chastity  from 
men,  it  is  inevitable  that  there  should  be  many  monsters 
of  vice. 

I  must  in  this  place  mention,  with  respect  and  grati- 
tude, the  conduct  of  Mrs.  Child  in  the  case  of  Amelia 
Norman.  The  action  and  speech  of  this  lady  was  of 
straightforward  nobleness,  undeterred  by  custom  or  cavil 
from  duty  toward  an  injured  sister.  She  showed  the  case 
and  the  arguments  the  counsel  against  the  prisoner  had  the 
assurance  to  use  in  their  true  light  to  the  public.  She 
put  the  case  on  the  only  ground  of  religion  and  equity. 
She  was  successful-  in  arresting  the  attention  of  many 
who  had  before  shrugged  their  shoulders,  and  let  sin  pass 
as  necessarily  a  part  of  the  company  of  men.  They 
begin  to  ask  whether  virtue  is  not  possible,  perhaps  neces- 
sary, to  Man  as  well  as  to  Woman.  They  begin  to 
fear  that  the  perdition  of  a  woman  must  involve  that  of 


EUGENE   SUE.  149 

a  man.     This  is  a  crisis.     The  results  of  this  case  will 
be  important. 

In  this  connection  I  must  mention  Eugene  Sue,  the 
French  novelist,  several  of  whose  works  have  been  lately 
translated  among  us,  as  having  the  true  spirit  of  reform 
as  to  women.  Like  every  other  French  writer,  he  is  still 
tainted  with  the  transmissions  of  the  old  regime.  Still, 
falsehood  may  be  permitted  for  the  sake,  of  advancing 
truth,  evil  as  the  way  to  good.  Even  George  Sand,  who 
would  trample  on  every  graceful  decorum,  and  every 
human  law,  for  the  sake  of  a  sincere  life,  does  not  see  that 
she  violates  it  by  making  her  heroines  able  to  tell  false- 
hoods in  a  good  cause.  These  French  writers  need  ever 
to  be  confronted  by  the  clear  perception  of  the  English 
and  German  mind,  that  the  only  good  man,  consequently 
the  only  good  reformer,  is  he 

"  Who  bases  good  on  good  alone,  and  owes 
To  virtue  every  triumph  that  he  knows.*' 

Still,  Sue  has  the  heart  of  a  reformer,  and  especially 
towards  women ;  he  sees  what  they  need,  and  what  causes 
are  injuring  them.  From  the  histories  of  Fleur  de 
Marie  and  La  Louve,  from  the  lovely  and  independent 
character  of  Rigolette,  from  the  distortion  given  to  Ma- 
tilda's mind,  by  the  present  views  of  marriage,  and  from 
the  truly  noble  and  immortal  character  of  the  ''hump- 
backed Sempstress"  in  the  "  Wandering  Jew,"  may  be 
gathered  much  that  shall  elucidate  doubt  and  direct 
inquiry  on  this  subject.  In  reform,  as  in  philosophy, 
the  French  are  the  interpreters  to  the  civilized  world. 
13* 


150  WOMAN  IN  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY. 

'Their  own  attainments  are  not  great,  but  they  make  clear 
the  past,  and  break  down  barriers  to  the  future. 

Observe  that  the  good  man  of  Sue  is  as  pure  as  Sir 
Charles  Grandison. 

Apropos  to  Sir  Charles.  Women  are  accustomed  to 
be  told  by  men  that  the  reform  is  to  come  from  them. 
"You,"  say  the  men,  "must  frown  upon  vice;  you 
must  decline  the  attentions  of  the  corrupt ;  you  must  not 
submit  to  the  will  of  your  husband  when  it  seems  to  you 
unworthy,  but  give  the  laws  in  marriage,  and  redeem  it 
from  its  present  sensual  and  mental  pollutions." 

This  seems  to  us  hard.  Men  have,  indeed,  been,  for 
more  than  a  hundred  years,  rating  women  for  counte- 
nancing vice.  But,  at  the  same  time,  they  have  carefully 
hid  from  them  its  nature,  so  that  the  preference  often 
shown  by  women  for  bad  men  arises  rather  from  a  con- 
fused idea  that  they  are  bold  and  adventurous,  acquainted 
with  regions  which  women  are  forbidden  to  explore,  and 
the  curiosity  that  ensues,  than  a  corrupt  heart  in  the 
woman.  As  to  marriage,  it  has  been  inculcated  on 
women,  for  centuries,  that  men  have  not  only  stronger 
passions  than  they,  but  of  a  sort  that  it  would  be  shame- 
ful for  them  to  share  or  even  understand ;  that,  therefore, 
they  must  "confide  in  their  husbands,"  that  is,  submit 
implicitly  to  their  will;  that  the  least  appearance  of 
coldness  or  withdrawal,  from  whatever  cause,  in  the  wife 
is  wicked,  because  liable  to  turn  her  husband's  thoughts 
to  illicit  indulgence  ;  for  a  man  is  so  constituted  that  he 
must  indulge  his  passions  or  die  ! 

Accordingly,  a  great  part  of  women  look  upon  men  as 


A   GRANDISON   MUCH   WANTED.  151 

a  kind  of  wild  beasts,  but  ''  suppose  they  are  all  alike  ;  " 
the  unmarried  are  assured  by  the  married  that,  ''  if  they 
knew  men  as  they  do,"  that  is,  by  being  married  to  them, 
"they  would  not  expect  continence  or  self-government 
fi-om  them." 

I  might  accumulate  illustrations  on  this  theme,  drawn 
from  acquaintance  with  the  histories  of  women,  which 
would  startle  and  grieve  all  thinking  men,  but  I  forbear. 
Let  Sir  Charles  Grandison  preach  to  his  own  sex ;  or  if 
none  there  be  who  feels  himself  able  to  speak  with  au- 
thority from  a  life  unspotted  in  will  or  deed,  let  those 
who  are  convinced  of  the  practicability  and  need  of  a  pure 
life,  as  the  foreign  artist  was,  advise  the  others,  and  warn 
them  by  their  own  example,  if  need  be.  y 

The  following  passage,  from  a  female  writer,  on  female 
affairs,  expresses  a  prevalent  way  of  thinking  on  this 
subject : 

"It  may  be  that  a  young  woman,  exempt  from  all 
motives  of  vanity,  determines  to  take  for  a  husband  a 
man  who  does  not  inspire  her  with  a  very  decided  incli- 
nation. Imperious  circumstances,  the  evident  interest  of 
her  family,  or  the  danger  of  suffering  celibacy,  may  ex- 
plain such  a  resolution.  If.  however,  she  were  to  endea 
vor  to  surmount  a  personal  repugnance,  we  should  look 
upon  this  as  injudicious.  Such  a  rebellion  of  nature _ 
marks  the  limit  that  the  influence  of  parents,  or  the  self- 
sacrifice  of  the  young  girl,  should  never  pass.  We  shall 
be  told  that  this  repugnance  is  an  affair  of  the  imag- 
ination.     It  may  be  so ;  but  imagination  is  a  power 


152  WOMAN  IN   THE  NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

which  it  is  temerity  to  brave  ;  and  its  antipathy  is  more 
difficult  to  conquer  than  its  preference."  * 

Among  ourselves,  the  exhibition  of  such  a  repugnance 
from  a  woman  who  had  been  given  in  marriage  "  by  ad- 
vice of  friends,"  was  treated  by  an  eminent  physician  as 
sufficient  proof  of  insanity.  If  he  had  said  sufficient 
cause  for  it,  he  would  have  been  nearer  right. 

It  has  been  suggested  by  men  who  were  pained  by 
seeing  bad  men  admitted,  freely,  to  the  society  of  modest 
women,  —  thereby  encouraged  to  vice  by  impunity,  and 
corrupting  the  atmosphere  of  homes, —  that  there  should 
be  a  senate  of  the  matrons  in  each  city  and  town,  who 
should  decide  what  candidates  were  fit  for  admission  to 
their  houses  and  the  society  of  their  daughters,  f 

Such  a  plan  might  have  excellent  results  ;  but  it  argues 
a  moral  dignity  and  decision  which  does  not  yet  exist, 
and  needs  to  be  induced  by  knowledge  and  reflection.  It 
has  been  the  tone  to  keep  women  ignorant  on  these  sub- 
jects, or,  when  they  were  not,  to  command  that  they 
should  seem  so.  "It  is  indelicate,"  says  the  father  or 
husband,  ''  to  inquire  into  the  private  character  of  such 
an  one.  It  is  sufficient  that  I  do  not  think  him  unfit  to 
visit  you."  And  so,  this  man,  who  would  not  tolerate 
these  pages  in  his  house,  "  unfit  for  family  reading," 
because  they  speak  plainly,  introduces  there  a  man  whose 
shame  is  written  on  his  brow,  as  well  as  the  open  secret 
of  the  whole  town,  and,  presently,  if  respectable  still, 

*  Madame  Necker  de  Saussure. 

t  See  Goethe's  Tasso.  "  A  synod  of  good  women  should  decide,"  — 
if  the  golden  age  is  to  be  restored. 


IS   PURITY   AN   EXOTIC?  158 

and  rich  enough,  gives  him  his  daughter  to  wife.  The 
mother  affects  ignorance,  "supposing  he  is  no  worse 
than  most  men."  The  daughter  is  ignorant;  something 
in  the  mind  of  the  new  spouse  seems  strange  to  her,  but 
she  supposes  it  is  "woman's  lot"  not  to  be  perfectly 
happy  in  her  affections;  she  has  always  heard,  "men 
could  not  understand  women,"  so  she  weeps  alone,  or 
takes  to  dress  and  the  duties  of  the  house.  The  husband, 
of  course,  makes  no  avowal,  and  dreams  of  no  redemp- 
tion. 

"  In  the  heart  of  every  young  woman,"  says  the  female 
writer  above  quoted,  addressing  herself  to  the  husband, 
"  depend  upon  it,  there  is  a  fund  of  exalted  ideas ;  she 
conceals,  represses,  without  succeeding  in  smothering 
them.  So  long  as  these  ideas  in  yotii'  wife  are  directed 
to  YOU,  they  are^  no  doubt ^  innocent^  but  take  care  that 
they  be  not  accompanied  with  too  much  pain.  In  other 
respects,  also,  spare  her  delicacy.  Let  all  the  antecedent 
parts  of  your  life,  if  there  are  such,  which  would  give  her 
pain,  be  concealed  from  her;  her  happiness  and  her 
respect  for  you  woidd  suffer  from  this  misplaced  con- 
fidence. Allow  her  to  retain  that  flower  of  purity,  which 
shoidd  distinguish  her^  i?i  your  eyes,  from  every  other 
iDomany  We  should  think  so,  truly,  under  this  canon. 
Such  a  man  must  esteem  purity  an  exotic  that  could 
only  be  preserved  by  the  greatest  care.  Of  the  degree 
of  mental  intimacy  possible,  in  such  a  marriage,  let  every 
one  judge  for  himself ! 

On  this  subject,  let  every  woman,  who  has  once  begun 
to  think,  examine  herself;  see  whether  she  does  not  sup- 


154        WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

pose  virtue  possible  and  necessary  to  Man,  and  whether 
she  would  not  desire  for  her  son  a  virtue  which  aimed  at 
a  fitness  for  a  divine  life,  and  involved,  if  not  asceticism, 
that  degree  of  power  over  the  lower  self,  which  shall 
^^not  exterminate  the  passions,  but  keep  them  chained  at 
the  feet  of  reason."  The  passions,  like  fire,  are  a  bad 
master ;  but  confine  them  to  the  hearth  and  the  altar, 
and  they  give  life  to  the  social  economy,  and  make  each 
sacrifice  meet  for  heaven. 

When  many  women  have  thought  upon  this  subject, 
some  will  be  fit  for  the  senate,  and  one  such  senate  in 
operation  would  affect  the  morals  of  the  civilized  world. 

At  present  I  look  to  the  young.  As  preparatory  to 
the  senate,  I  should  like  to  see  a  society  of  novices,  such 
as  the  world  has  never  yet  seen,  bound  by  no  oath,  wear- 
ing no  badge.  In  place  of  an  oath,  they  should  have  a 
religious  faith  in  the  capacity  of  Man  for  virtue  ;  instead 
of  a  badge,  should  wear  in  the  heart  a  firm  resolve  not  to 
stop  short  of  the  destiny  promised  him  as  a  son  of  God. 
Their  service  should  be  action  and  conservatism,  not  of 
old  habits,  but  of  a  better  nature,  enlightened  by  hopes 
that  daily  grow  brighter. 

If  sin  was  to  remain  in  the  world,  it  should  not  be  by 
their  connivance  at  its  stay,  or  one  moment's  concession 
to  its  claims. 

They  should  succor  the  oppressed,  and  pay  to  the  up- 
right the  reverence  due  in  hero-worship  by  seeking  to 
emulate  them.  They  would  not  denounce  the  willingly 
bad,  but  they  could  not  be  with  them,  for  the  two  classes 
could  not  breathe  the  same  atmosphere. 


EXALTADOS  !  EXALTADAS  !  155 

They  would  heed  no  detention  from  the  time-serving, 
the  worldly  and  the  timid. 

They  could  love  no  pleasures  that  were  not  innocent 
and  capable  of  good  fruit. 

I  saw,  in  a  foreign  paper,  the  title  now  given  to  a  party 
abroad,  "Los  Exaltados."  Such  would  be  the  title  now 
given  these  children  by  the  world :  Los  Exaltados,  Las 
Exaltadas ;  but  the  world  would  not  sneer  always,  for 
from  them  would  issue  a  virtue  by  which  it  would,  at 
last,  be  exalted  too. 

I  have  in  my  eye  a  youth  and  a  maiden  whom  I  look 
to  as  the  nucleus  of  such  a  class.  They  are  both  in  early 
youth ;  both  as  yet  uncontaminated  ;  both  aspiring,  with- 
out rashness ;  both  thoughtful ;  both  capable  of  deep 
affection ;  both  of  strong  nature  and  sweet  feelings  ;  both 
capable  of  large  mental  development.  They  reside  in 
different  regions  of  earth,  but  their  place  in  the  soul  is 
the  same.  To  them  I  look,  as,  perhaps,  the  harbingers 
and  leaders  of  a  new  era,  for  never  yet  have  I  known 
minds  so  truly  virgin,  without  narrowness  or  ignorance. 

When  men  call  upon  women  to  redeem  them,  they 
mean  such  maidens.  But  such  are  not  easily  formed 
under  the  present  influences  of  society.  As  there  are 
more  such  young  men  to  help  give  a  different  tone,  there 
will  be  more  such  maidens. 

The  English,  novelist,  D' Israeli,  has,  in  his  novel  of 
"  The  Young  Duke,"  made  a  man  of  the  most  depraved 
stock  be  redeemed  by  a  woman  who  despises  him  when 
he  has  only  the  brilliant  mask  of  fortune  and  beauty  to 
cover  the  poverty  of  his  heart  and  brain,  but  knows  how 


156  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

to  encourage  him  when  he  enters  on  a  better  course.  But 
this  woman  was  educated  by  a  father  who  valued  charac- 
ter in  women. 

Still,  there  will  come  now  and  then  one  who  w^ill,  as 
I  hope  of  mj  young  Exaltada,  be  example  and  instruction 
for  the  rest.  It  was  not  the  opinion  of  Woman  current 
among  Jewish  men  that  formed  the  character  of  the 
mother  of  Jesus. 

Since  the  sliding  and  backsliding  men  of  the  world,  no 
less  than  the  mystics,  declare  that,  as  through  Woman 
Man  was  lost,  so  through  Woman  must  Man  be  redeemed, 
the  time  must  be  at  hand.  When  she  knows  herself 
indeed  as  "accomplished,"  still  more  as  "  immortal  Eve," 
this  may  be. 

As  an  immortal,  she  may  also  know  and  inspire  im- 
mortal love,  a  happiness  not  to  be  dreamed  of  under  the 
circumstances  advised  in  the  last  quotation.  Where  love 
is  based  on  concealment,  it  must,  of  course,  disappear 
when  the  soul  enters  the  scene  of  clear  vision ! 

And,  without  this  hope,  how  worthless  every  plan, 
every  bond,  every  power  ! 

"  The  giants,"  said  the  Scandinavian  Saga,  "had  in- 
duced Loke  (the  spirit  that  hovers  between  good  and  ill) 
to  steal  for  them  Iduna  (Goddess  of  Immortality)  and 
her  apples  of  pure  gold.  He  lured  her  out,  by  promising 
to  show,  on  a  marvellous  tree  he  had  discovered,  apples 
beautiful  as  her  own,  if  she  would  only  take  them  with 
her  for  a  comparison.  Thus  having  lured  her  beyond 
the  heavenly  domain,  she  was  seized  and  carried  away 
captive  by  the  powers  of  misrule. 


LOVE  PARTS  NOT  WITH  IDUNA.       157 

"  As  now  the  gods  could  not  find  their  friend  Iduna, 
they  were  confused  with  grief ;  indeed,  they  began  visibly 
to  grow  old  and  gray.  Discords  arose,  and  love  grew 
cold.  Indeed,  Odur,  spouse  of  the  goddess  of  love  and 
beauty,  wandered  away,  and  returned  no  more.  At  last, 
however,  the  gods,  discovering  the  treachery  of  Loke, 
obliged  him  to  win  back  Iduna  from  the  prison  in  which 
she  sat  mourning.  He  changed  himself  into  a  falcon, 
and  brought  her  back  as  a  swallow,  fiercely  pursued  by 
the  Giant  King,  in  the  form  of  an  eagle.  So  she  strives 
to  return  among  us,  light  and  small  as  a  swallow.  We 
must  welcome  her  form  as  the  speck  on  the  sky  that 
assures  the  glad  blue  of  Summer.  Yet  one  swallow  does 
not  make  a  summer.  Let  us  solicit  them  in  flights  and 
flocks!" 

Returning  from  the  future  to  the  present,  let  us  see 
what  forms  Iduna  takes,  as  she  moves  along  the  declivity 
of  centuries  to  the  valley  where  the  lily  flower  may  con- 
centrate all  its  fragrance. 

It  would  seem  as  if  this  time  were  not  very  near  to 
one  fresh  from  books,  such  as  I  have  of  late  been  —  no : 
not  reading,  but  sighing  over.  A  crowd  of  books  hav- 
ing been  sent  me  since  my  friends  knew  me  to  be  engaged 
in  this  way,  on  Woman's  "  Sphere,"  Woman's  "  Mis- 
sion," and  Woman's  "  Destiny,"  I  believe  that  almost 
all  that  is  extant  of  formal  precept  has  come  under  my 
eye.  Among  these  I  read  with  refreshment  a  little  one 
called  "The  Whole  Duty  of  Woman,"  "indited  by  a 
noble  lady  at  the  request  of  a  noble  lord,"  and  which  has 
14 

:^  THI?  ""M 


158  WOMAN  IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

this  much  of  nobleness,  that  the  view  it  takes  is  a  relig- 
ious one.  It  aims  to  fit  Woman  for  heaven ;  the  main  bent 
of  most  of  the  others  is  to  fit  her  to  please,  or,  at  least, 
not  to  disturb,  a  husband. 

Among  these  I  select,  as  a  favorable  specimen,  the 
book  I  have  already  quoted,  ^'  The  Studj^  of  the  Life 
of  Woman,  by  Madame  Necker  de  Saussure,  of  Geneva, 
translated  from  the  French."  This  book  was  published 
at  Philadelphia,  and  has  been  read  with  much  favor  here. 
Madame  Necker  is  the  cousin  of  Madame  de  Stael,  and 
has  taken  from  her  works  the  motto  prefixed  to  this. 

"  Cette  vie  n'a  quelque  prix  que  si  elle  sert  a'  1' edu- 
cation morale  de  notre  coeur." 

Mde.  Necker  is,  by  nature,  capable  of  entire  consist- 
ency in  the  application  of  this  motto,  and,  therefore,  the 
qualifications  she  makes,  in  the  instructions  given,  to  her 
own  sex,  show  forcibly  the  weight  which  still  paralyzes 
and  distorts  the  energies  of  that  sex. 

The  book  is  rich  in  passages  marked  by  feeling  and 
good  suggestions  ;  but,  taken  in  the  whole,  the  impression 
it  leaves  is  this ; 

Woman  is,  and  shall  remain,  inferior  to  Man  and 
subject  to  his  will,  and,  in  endeavoring  to  aid  her,  we 
must  anxiously  avoid  anything  that  can  be  misconstrued 
into  expression  of  the  contrary  opinion,  else  the  men  will 
be  alarmed,  and  combine  to  defeat  our  efforts. 

The  present  is  a  good  time  for  these  efforts,  for  men 
are  less  occupied  about  women  than  formerly.     Let  us, 

•  This  title  seems  to  be  incorrectly  translated  from  the  French.  I 
have  not  seen  the  original. 


PARAGUAY  WOMAN.  159 

then,  seize  upon  the  occasion,  and  do  what  we  can  to 
make  our  lot  tolerable.  But  we  must  sedulously  avoid 
encroaching  on  the  territory  of  Man.  If  we  study  natural 
history,  our  observations  may  be  made  useful,  by  some 
male  naturalist ;  if  we  draw  well,  we  may  make  our  ser- 
vices acceptable  to  the  artists.  But  our  names  must  not 
be  known ;  and,  to  bring  these  labors  to  any  result,  we 
must  take  some  man  for  our  head,  and  be  his  hands. 

The  lot  of  Woman  is  sad.  She  is  constituted  to  expect 
and  need  a  happiness  that  cannot  exist  on  earth.  She 
must  stifle  such  aspirations  within  her  secret  heart,  and 
fit  herself,  as  well  as  she  can,  for  a  life  of  resignations 
and  consolations. 

She  will  be  very  lonely  while  living  with  her  husband. 
She  must  not  expect  to  open  her  heart  to  him  fully,  or 
that,  after  marriage,  he  will  be  capable  of  the  refined 
service  of  love.  The  man  is  not  born  for  the  woman, 
only  the  woman  for  the  man.  ''  Men  cannot  understand 
the  hearts  of  women."  The  life  of  Woman  must  be  out- 
wardly a  well-intentioned,  cheerful  dissimulation  of  her 
real  life. 

Naturally,  the  feelings  of  the  mother,  at  the  birth  of 
a  female  child,  resemble  those  of  the  Paraguay  woman, 
described  by  Southey  as  lamenting  in  such  heart-breaking 
tones  that  her  mother  did  not  kill  her  the  hour  she  was 
born, —  "her  mother,  who  knew  what  the  life  of  a  wo- 
man must  be;  "  — or  of  those  women  seen  at  the  north 
by  Sir  A.  Mackenzie,  who  performed  this  pious  duty 
towards  female  infants  whenever  they  had  an  opportunity. 

"  After  the  first  delight,  the  young  mother  experiences 


160         WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

feelings  a  little  different,  according  as  the  birth  of  a  son 
or  a  daughter  has  been  announced. 

''  Is  it  a  son?  A  sort  of  glory  swells  at  this  thought 
the  heart  of  the  mother ;  she  seems  to  feel  that  she  is 
entitled  to  gratitude.  She  has  given  a  citizen,  a  defender, 
to  her  country  ;  to  her  husband  an  heir  of  his  name  ;  to 
herself  a  protector.  And  yet  the  contrast  of  all  these 
fine  titles  with  this  being,  so  humble,  soon  strikes  her. 
At  the  aspect  of  this  frail  treasure,  opposite  feelings 
agitate  her  heart ;  she  seems  to  recognize  in  him  a  nature 
sii'perior  to  her  own^  but  subjected  to  a  low  condition, 
and  she  honors  a  future  greatness  in  the  object  of  extreme 
compassion.  Somewhat  of  that  respect  and  adoration 
for  a  feeble  child,  of  which  some  fine  pictures  offer  the 
expression  in  the  features  of  the  happy  Mary,  seem  re- 
produced with  the  young  mother  who  has  given  birtli  to 
a  son. 

"  Is  it  a  daughter  ?  There  is  usually  a  slight  degree 
of  regret ;  so  deeply  rooted  is  the  idea  of  the  superiority 
of  Man  in  happiness  and  dignity ;  and  yet,  as  she  looks 
upon  this  child,  she  is  more  and  more  softened  towards 
it.  A  deep  sympathy  —  a  sentiment  of  identity  with  this 
delicate  being  —  takes  possession  of  her  ;  an  extreme  pity 
for  so  much  weakness,  a  more  pressing  need  of  prayer, 
stirs  her  heart.  Whatever  sorrows  she  may  have  felt, 
she  dreads  for  her  daughter ;  but  she  will  guide  her  to 
become  much  wiser,  much  better  than  herself  And  then 
the  gayety,  the  frivolity  of  the  young  w^oman  have  their 
turn.  This  little  creature  is  a  flower  to  cultivate,  a  doll 
to  decorate.' 


BOND-MAIDS  !     BRUNHILD  AS  !  161 

Similar  sadness  at  the  birth  of  a  daughter  I  have  heard 
mothers  express  not  unfrequently. 

As  to  this  living  so  entirely  for  men,  I  should  think 
when  it  was  proposed  to  women  they  would  feel,  at  least, 
some  spark  of  the  old  spirit  of  races  allied  to  our  own. 
''If  he  is  to  be  my  bridegroom  and  lord^''  cries  Brun- 
hilda,*  "  he  must  first  be  able  to  pass  through  fire  and 
water."  ''I  will  serve  at  the  banquet,"  says  the  Wal- 
kyrie,  ''  but  only  him  who,  in  the  trial  of  deadly  combat, 
has  shown  himself  a  hero." 

If  Avomen  are  to  be  bond-maids,  let  it  be  to  men  supe- 
rior to  women  in  fortitude,  in  aspiration,  in  moral  power, 
in  refined  sense  of  beauty  !  You  who  give  yourselves 
"to  be  supported,"  or  because  "one  must  love  some- 
thing," are  they  who  make  the  lot  of  the  sex  such  that 
mothers  are  sad  when  daughters  are  born. 

It  marks  the  state  of  feeling  on  this  subject  that  it 
was  mentioned,  as  a  bitter  censure  on  a  woman  who  had 
influence  over  those  younger  than  herself,  —  "She  makes 
those  girls  want  to  see  heroes  ?  " 

"  And  will  that  hurt  them?  " 

"  Certainly ;  how  can  you  ask  ?  They  will  find  none, 
and  so  they  will  never  be  married." 

"  Get  married"  is  the  usual  phrase,  and  the  one  that 
correctly  indicates  the  thought ;  but  the  speakers,  on  this 
occasion,  were  persons  too  outwardly  refined  to  use  it. 
They  were  ashamed  of  the  word,  but  not  of  the  thing. 
Madame  Necker,  however,  sees  good  possible  in  celibacy. 

Indeed,  I  kntDw  not  how  the  subject  could  be  better 

*  See  the  Nibelungen  Lays. 

14* 


162  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

illustrated,  than  by  separating  the  wheat  from  the  chaff 
in  Madame  Necker's  book ;  place  them  in  two  heaps,  and 
then  summon  the  reader  to  choose ;  giving  him  first  a 
near-sighted  glass  to  examine  the  two; — it  might  be  a 
Christian,  an  astronomical,  or  an  artistic  glass, —  any 
kind  of  good  glass  to  obviate  acquired  defects  in  the  eye. 
I  would  lay  any  wager  on  the  result. 

But  time  permits  not  here  a  prolonged  analysis.     I 
have  given  the  clues  for  fault-finding. 
^       As  a  specimen  of  the  good  take  the  following  passage, 
on  the  phenomena  of  what  I  have  spoken  of,  as  the  lyri- 
cal or  electric  element  in  Woman. 

*'  Women  have  been  seen  to  show  themselves  poets  in 
the  most  pathetic  pantomimic  scenes,  where  all  the  pas- 
sions were  depicted  full  of  beauty  ;  and  these  poets  used 
a  language  unknown  to  themselves,  and,  the  performance 
once  over,  their  inspiration  was  a  forgotten  dream.  With- 
out doubt  there  is  an  interior  development  to  beings  so 
gifted ;  but  their  sole  mode  of  communication  with  us  is 
their  talent.  They  are,  in  all  besides,  the  inhabitants  of 
another  planet." 

Similar  observations  have  been  made  by  those  who 
have  seen  the  women  at  Irish  wakes,  or  the  funeral 
ceremonies  of  modern  Greece  or  Brittany,  at  times  when 
excitement  gave  the  impulse  to  genius ;  but,  apparently, 
without  a  thought  that  these  rare  powers  belonged  to  no 
other  planet,  but  were  a  high  development  of  the  growth 
of  this,  and  might,  by  wise  and  reverent  treatment,  be 
made  to  inform  and  embellish  the  scenes  of  every  day. 
But,  when  Woman  has  her  fair   chance,  she  will   do 


MISS  SEDGWICK.  163 

BOj  and  the  poem  of  the  hour  will  vie  with  that  of  the 


I  come  now  with  satisfaction  to  my  own  country,  and  to 
a  writer,  a  female  writer,  whom  I  have  selected  as  the 
clearest,  wisest,  and  kindliest,  who  has,  as  yet,  used  pen 
here  on  these  subjects.     This  is  Miss  Sedgwick. 

Miss  Sedgwick,  though  she  inclines  to  the  private 
path,  and  wishes  that,  by  the  cultivation  of  character, 
might  should  vindicate  right,  sets  limits  nowhere,  and 
her  objects  and  inducements  are  pure.  They  are  the  free 
and  careful  cultivation  of  the  powers  that  have  been 
given,  with  an  aim  at  moral  and  intellectual  perfection. 
Her  speech  is  moderate  and  sane,  but  never  palsied  by 
fear  or  sceptical  caution. 

Herself  a  fine  example  of  the  independent  and  benefi- 
cent existence  that  intellect  and  character  can  give  to 
Woman,  no  less  than  Man,  if  she  know  how  to  seek  and 
prize  it, — also,  that  the  intellect  need  not  absorb  or  weak- 
en, but  rather  will  refine  and  invigorate,  the  afiections, — 
the  teachings  of  her  practical  good  sense  come  with  great 
force,  and  cannot  fail  to  avail  much.  Every  way  her 
writings  please  me  both  as  to  the  means  and  the  ends.  I 
am  pleased  at  the  stress  she  lays  on  observance  of  the 
physical  laws,  because  the  true  reason  is  given.  Only 
in  a  strong  and  clean  body  can  the  soul  do  its  message  fitly. 

She  shows  the  meaning  of  the  respect  paid  to  personal 
neatness,  both  in  the  indispensable  form  of  cleanliness, 
and  of  that  love  of  order  and  arrangement,  that  must 
issue  from  a  true  harmony  of  feeling. 

The  praises  of  cold  water  seem  to  me  an  excellent 


164         WOMAN   IN  THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

sign  in  tlie  age.  They  denote  a  tendency  to  the  true 
life.  We  are  now  to  have,  as  a  remedy  for  ills,  not  orvie- 
tan,  or  opium,  or  any  quack  medicine,  but  plenty  of  air 
and  water,  with  due  attention  to  warmth  and  freedom  in 
dress,  and  simplicity  of  diet. 

Every  day  we  observe  signs  that  the  natural  feelings 
on  these  subjects  are  about  to  be  reinstated,  and  the  body 
to  claim  care  as  the  abode  and  organ  of  the  soul ;  not  as 
the  tool  of  servile  labor,  or  the  object  of  voluptuous 
indulgence. 

A  poor  woman,  who  had  passed  through  the  lowest 
grades  of  ignominy,  seemed  to  think  she  had  never  been 
wholly  lost,  "  for,"  said  she,  ''  I  would  always  have  good 
under-clothes ; "  and,  indeed,  who  could  doubt  that  this 
denoted  the  remains  of  private  self-respect  in  the  mind  ? 

A  woman  of  excellent  sense  said,  "  It  might  seem 
childish,  but  to  her  one  of  the  most  favorable  signs  of 
the  times  was  that  the  ladies  had  been  persuaded  to  give 
up  corsets." 

Yes !  let  us  give  up  £tll  artificial  means  of  distortion. 
Let  life  be  healthy,  pure,  all  of  a  piece.  Miss  Sedgwick, 
in  teaching  that  domestics  must  have  the  means  of  bath- 
ing as  much  as  their  mistresses,  and  time,  too,  to  bathe, 
has  symbolized  one  of  the  most  important  of  human 
rights. 

Another  interesting  sign  of  the  time  is  the  influence 
exercised  by  tw^o  women.  Miss  Martineau  and  Miss  Bar- 
rett, from  their  sick-rooms.  The  lamp  of  life  which,  if 
it  had  been  fed  only  by  the  affections,  depended  on  pre- 
carious human  relations,  would  scarce  have  been  able  to 


165 


maintain  a  feeble  glare  in  the  lonely  prison,  now  shines 
far  and  wide  over  the  nations,  cheering  fellow-sufferers 
and  hallowing  the  joy  of  the  healthful. 

These  persons  need  not  health  or  youth,  or  the  charms 
of  personal  presence,  to  make  their  thoughts  available. 
A  few  more  such,  and  ''  old  woman  "  *  shall  not  be  the 
synonyme  for  imbecility,  nor  '^  old  maid  "  a  term  of  con- 
tempt, nor  Woman  be  spoken  of  as  a  reed  shaken  by  the 
wind. 

It  is  time,  indeed,  that  men  and  women  both  should 
cease  to  grow  old  in  any  other  way  than  as  the  tree 
does,  full  of  grace  and  honor.  The  hair  of  the  artist 
turns  white,  but  his  eye  shines  clearer  than  ever,  and  we 
feel  that  age  brings  him  maturity,  not  decay.  So  would 
it  be  with  all,  were  the  springs  of  immortal  refreshment 
but  unsealed  within  the  soul ;  then,  like  these  women,  they 
would  see,  from  the  lonely  chamber  window,  the  glories 
of  the  universe;  or,  shut  in  darkness,  be  visited  by 
angels. 

1  now  touch  on  my  own  pla<;e  and  day,  and,  as  I 
write,  events  are  occurring  that  threaten  the  fair  fabric 
approached  by  so  long  an  avenue.  Week  before  last,  the 
Gentile  was  requested  to  aid  the  Jew  to  return  to  Pales- 
tine; for  the  Millennium,  the  reign  of  the  Son  of  Mary 
was  near.  Just  now,  at  high  and  solemn  mass,  thanks 
were  returned  to  the  Virgin  for  having  delivered  O'Con- 
nell  from  unjust  imprisonment,  in  requital  of  his  having 
consecrated  to  her  the  league  formed  in  behalf  of  Liberty 

*  An  apposite  passage  is  quoted  in  Appendix  F. 


166  WOMAN  IN  THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

'on  Tara's  Hill.  But  last  week  brought  news  which 
threatens  that  a  cause  identical  with  the  enfranchisement 
of  Jews,  Irish,  women,  ay,  and  of  Americans  in  general, 
too,  is  in  danger,  for  the  choice  of  the  people  threatens 
to  rivet  the  chains  of  slavery  and  the  leprosy  of  sin 
permanently  on  this  nation,  through  the  Annexation  of 
Texas ! 

Ah  !  if  this  should  take  place,  who  will  dare  again  to 
feel  the  throb  of  heavenly  hope,  as  to  the  destiny  of  this 
country  ?  The  noble  thought  that  gave  unity  to  all  our 
knowledge,  harmony  to  all  our  designs,  —  the  thought 
that  the  progress  of  history  had  brought  on  the  era,  the 
tissue  of  prophecies  pointed  out  the  spot,  where  human- 
ity was,  at  last,  to  have  a  fair  chance  to  know  itself,  and 
all  men  be  born  free  and  equal  for  the  eagle's  flight,  — 
flutters  as  if  about  to  leave  the  breast,  which,  deprived 
of  it,  will  have  no  more  a  nation,  no  more  a  home  on 
earth. 

Women  of  my  country  !  —  Exaltadas  !  if  such  there 
be,  —  women  of  English,  old  English  nobleness,  who 
understand  the  courage  of  Boadicea,  the  sacrifice  of  Go- 
diva,  the  power  of  Queen  Emma  to  tread  the  red-Tiot  iron 
unharmed,  —  women  who  share  the  nature  of  Mrs. 
Hutchinson,  Lady  Russell,  and  the  mothers  of  our 
own  revolution,  —  have  you  nothing  to  do  with  this  ? 
You  see  the  men,  how  they  are  willing  to  sell  shame- 
lessly the  happiness  of  countless  generations  of  fellow- 
creatures,  the  honor  of  their  country,  and  their  immortal 
souls,  for  a  money  market  and  political  power.  Do  you 
not  feel  within  you  that  which  can  reprove  them,  which 


LIFT  OFF  THE   CURSE.  167 

can  check,  which  can  convince  them  ?  You  would  not 
speak  in  vain ;  whether  each  in  her  own  home,  or  banded 
in  unison. 

Tell  these  men  that  you  will  not  accept  the  glittering 
baubles,  spacious  dwellings,  and  plentiful  service,  they 
mean  to  ofifer  you  through  these  means.  Tell  them  that 
the  heart  of  Woman  demands  nobleness  and  honor  in 
Man,  and  that,  if  they  have  not  purity,  have  not  mercy, 
they  are  no  longer  fathers,  lovers,  husbands,  sons  of 
yours. 

This  cause  is  your  own,  for,  as  I  have  before  said, 
there  is  a  reason  why  the  foes  of  African  Slavery  seek 
more  freedom  for  women;  but  put  it  not  upon  that 
ground,  but  on  the  ground  of  right. 

If  you  have  a  power,  it  is  a  moral  power.  The  films 
of  interest  are  not  so  close  around  you  as  around  the 
men.  If  you  will  but  think,  you  cannot  fail  to  wish  to 
save  the  country  from  this  disgrace.  Let  not  slip  the 
occasion,  but  do  something  to  lift  off  the  curse  incurred 
by  Eve. 

You  have  heard  the  women  engaged  in  the  Abolition 
movement  accused  of  boldness,  because  they  lifted  the 
voice  in  public,  and  lifted  the  latch  of  the  stranger.  But 
were  these  acts,  whether  performed  judiciously  or  no,  so 
bold  as  to  dare  before  God  and  Man  to  partake  the  fruits 
of  such  offence  as  this  ? 

You  hear  much  of  the  modesty  of  your  sex.  Preserve 
it  by  filling  the  mind  with  noble  desires  that  shall  ward 
off  the  corruptions  of  vanity  and  idleness.  A  profligate 
woman,  who  left  her  accustomed  haunts  and  took  service 


V 


168  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

in  a  New  York  boarding-house,  said  "she  had  never 
heard  talk  so  vile  at  the  Five  Points,  as  from  the  ladies 
at  the  boarding-house."  And  why  ?  Because  they 
were  idle ;  because,  having  nothing  worthy  to  engage 
them,  they  dwelt,  with  unnatural  curiosity,  on  the  ill 
they  dared  not  go  to  see.J 

It  will  not  so  much  injure  your  modesty  to  have  your 
name,  by  the  unthinking,  coupled  with  idle  blame,  as  to 
have  upon  your  soul  the  weight  of  not  trying  to  save  a 
whole  race  of  women  from  the  scorn  that  is  put  upon 
their  modesty. 

Think  of  this  well !  I  entreat,  I  conjure  you,  before  it 
is  too  late.  It  is  my  belief  that  something  effectual 
might  be  done  by  women,  if  they  would  only  consider 
the  subject,  and  enter  upon  it  in  the  true  spirit, —  a  spirit 
gentle,  but  firm,  and  which  feared  the  offence  of  none, 
save  One  who  is  of  purer  eyes  than  to  behold  iniquity. 

And  now  I  have  designated  in  outline,  if  not  in  ful- 
ness, the  stream  which  is  ever  flowing  from  the  heights 
of  my  thought. 

In  the  earlier  tract  I  was  told  I  did  not  make  my 
meaning  sufficiently  clear.  In  this  I  have  consequently 
tried  to  illustrate  it  in  various  ways,  and  may  have  been 
guilty  of  much  repetition.  Yet,  as  I  am  anxious  to  leave 
no  room  for  doubt,  I  shall  venture  to  retrace,  once  more, 
the  scope  of  my  design  in  points,  as  was  done  in  old- 
fashioned  sermons. 

Man  is  a  being  of  two-fold  relations,  to  nature  beneath, 
and  intelligences  above  him.     The  earth  is  his  school,  if 


GROWTH   OF  MAN  TWO-FOLD.  169 

not  his  birth-place ;  God  his  object ;  life  and  thought  his 
means  of  interpreting  nature,  and  aspiring  to  God. 

Only  a  fraction  of  this  purpose  is  accomplished  in  the 
life  of  any  one  man.  Its  entire  accomplishment  is  to  be 
hoped  only  from  the  sum  of  the  lives  of  men,  or  Man 
considered  as  a  whole. 

As  this  whole  has  one  soul  and  one  body,  any  injury  or 
obstruction  to  a  part,  or  to  the  meanest  member,  affects 
the  whole.  Man  can  never  be  perfectly  happy  or  virtu- 
ous, till  all  men  are  so. 

To  address  Man  wisely,  you  must  not  forget  that  his 
life  is  partly  animal,  subject  to  the  same  laws  with 
Nature. 

But  you  cannot  address  him  wisely  unless  you  con- 
sider him  still  more  as  soul,  and  appreciate  the  condi- 
tions and  destiny  of  soul. 

The  growth  of  Man  is  two-fold,  masculine  and  fem- 
inine. 

So  far  as  these  two  methods  can  be  distinguished,  they 
are  so  as 

Energy  and  Harmony ; 

Power  and  Beauty ; 

Intellect  and  Love ; 
or  by  some  such  rude  classification ;    for  we  have   not 
language  primitive  and  pure  enough  to  express  such 
ideas  with  precision. 

These  two  sides  are  supposed  to  be  expressed  in  Man 

and  Woman,  that  is,  as  the  more  and  the  less,  for  the 

faculties  have  not  been  given  pure  to  either,  but  only  in 

preponderance.     There  are  also  exceptions  in  great  num- 

15 


170  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

ber,  such  as  men  of  far  more  beauty  than  power,  and  the 
reverse.  But,  as  a  general  rule,  it  seems  to  have  been 
the  intention  to  give  a  preponderance  on  the  one  side, 
that  is  called  masculine,  and  on  the  other,  one  that  is 
called  feminine. 

There  cannot  be  a  doubt  tha,t,  if  these  two  developments 
were  in  perfect  harmony,  they  would  correspond  to  and 
fulfil  one  another,  like  hemispheres,  or  the  tenor  and  bass 
in  music. 

But  there  is  no  perfect  harmony  in  human  nature ; 
and  the  two  parts  answer  one  another  only  now  and 
then  ;  or,  if  there  be  a  persistent  consonance,  it  can  only 
be  traced  at  long  intervals,  instead  of  discoursing  an 
obvious  melody. 

What  is  the  cause  of  this  ? 

Man,  in  the  order  of  time,  was  developed  first ;  as 
energy  comes  before  harmony  ;  power  before  beauty. 

Woman  was  therefore  under  his  care  as  an  elder.  He 
might  have  been  her  guardian  and  teacher. 

But,  as  human  nature  goes  not  straight  forward,  but 
by  excessive  action  and  then  reaction  in  an  undulated 
course,  he  misunderstood  and  abused  his  advantages,  and 
became  her  temporal  master  instead  of  her  spiritual  sire. 
^  On  himself  came  the  punishment.  He  educated 
Woman  more  as  a  servant  than  a  daughter,  and  found 
himself  a  king  without  a  queen. 

The  children  of  this  unequal  union  showed  unequal 
natures,  and,  more  and  more,  men  seemed  sons  of  the 
handmaid,  rather  than  princess. 

At  last,  there  were  so  many  Ishmaelites  that  the  rest 


THE   HEMISPHERES.  171 

grew  frightened  and  indignant.  They  laid  the  blame  on 
Hagar,  and  drove  her  forth  into  the  wilderness. 

But  there  were  none  the  fewer  Ishmaelites  for  that. 

At  last  men  became  a  little  wiser,  and  saw  that  the 
infent  Moses  was,  in  every  case,  saved  by  the  pure 
instincts  of  Woman's  breast.  For,  as  too  much  adversity 
is  better  for  the  moral  nature  than  too  much  prosperity, 
Woman,  in  this  respect,  dwindled  less  than  Man,  though 
in  other  respects  still  a  child  in  leading-strings. 

So  Man  did  her  more  and  more  justice,  and  grow  more 
and  more  kind. 

But  yet  —  his  habits  and  his  will  corrupted  by  the 
past  —  he  did  not  clearly  see  that  Woman  was  half  him- 
self; that  her  interests  were  identical  with  his ;  and  that, 
by  the  law  of  their  common  being,  he  could  never  reach 
his  true  proportions  while  she  remained  in  any  wise  shorn 
of  hers. 

And  so  it  has  gone  on  to  our  day ;  both  ideas  develop- 
ing, but  more  slowly  than  they  would  under  a  clearer 
recognition  of  truth  and  justice,  which  would  have  per- 
mitted the  sexes  their  due  influence  on  one  another,  and 
mutual  improvement  from  more  dignified  relations. 

Wherever  there  was  pure  love,  the  natural  influences 
were,  for  the  time,  restored. 

Wherever  the  poet  or  artist  gave  free  course  to  his 
genius,  he  saw  the  truth,  and  expressed  it  in  worthy 
forms,  for  these  men  especially  share  and  need  the  femi- 
nine principle.  The  divine  birds  need  to  be  brooded  into 
life  and  song  by  mothers. 

Wherever  religion  (I  mean  the  thirst  for  truth  and 


172  WOMAN 'IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

good,  not  the  love  of  sect  and  dogma)  had  its  course,  the 
original  design  was  apprehended  in  its  simplicity,  and  the 
dove  presaged  sweetly  from  Dodona's  oak. 

I  have  aimed  to  show  that  no  age  was  left  entirely 
without  a  witness  of  the  equality  of  the  sexes  in  function, 
duty  and  hope. 

Also  that,  when  there  was  unwillingness  or  ignorance, 
which  prevented  this  being  acted  upon,  women  had  not 
the  less  power  for  their  want  of  light  and  noble  freedom. 
But  it  was  power  which  hurt  alike  them  and  those  against 
whom  they  made  use  of  the  arms  of  the  servile,  —  cun- 
ning, blandishment,  and  unreasonable  emotion. 

That  now  the  time  has  come  when  a  clearer  vision  and 
better  action  are  possible  —  when  Man  and  Woman  may 
regard  one  another  as  brother  and  sister,  the  pillars  of 
one  porch,  the  priests  of  one  worship. 

I  have  believed  and  intimated  that  this  hope  would 
receive  an  ampler  fruition,  than  ever  before,  in  our  own 
land. 

And  it  will  do  so  if  this  land  carry  out  the  principles 
from  which  sprang  our  national  life. 

I  believe  that,  at  present,  women  are  the  best  helpers 
of  one  another. 

Let  them  think ;  let  them  act ;  till  tliey  know  what 
they  need. 

We  only  ask  of  men  to  remove  arbitrary  barriers. 
Some  would  like  to  do  more.  But  I  believe  it  needs 
that  Woman  show  herself  in  her  native  dignity,  to  teach 
them  how  to  aid  her ;  their  minds  are  so  encumbered  by 
tradition. 


WHAT  USE  WILL  SHE  MAKE   OF  LIBERTY?       173 

When  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  travelled  with  the  In- 
dians, his  manly  heart  obliged  him  at  once  to  take  the 
packs  from  the  squaws  and  carry  them.  But  we  do  not 
read  that  tl.e  red  men  followed  his  example,  though  they 
are  ready  enough  to  carry  the  pack  of  the  white  woman, 
because  she  seems  to  them  a  superior  being. 

Let  Woman  appear  in  the  mild  majesty  of  Ceres,  and 
rudest  churls  will  be  willing  to  learn  from  her. 

You  ask,  what  use  will  she  make  of  liberty,  when  she ' 
has  so  long  been  sustained  and  restrained  ?  --^ 

I  answer  ;  in  the  first  place,  this  will  not  be  suddenly 
given.  I  read  yesterday  a  debate  of  this  year  on  the 
subject  of  enlarging  women's  rights  over  property.  It 
was  a  leaf  from  the  class-book  that  is  preparing  for  the 
needed  instruction.  The  men  learned  visibly  as  they 
spoke.  The  champions  of  Woman  saw  the  fallacy  of 
arguments  on  the  opposite  side,  and  were  startled  by 
their  own  convictions.  With  their  wives  at  home,  and 
the  readers  of  the  paper,  it  was  the  same.  And  so  the 
stream  flows  on ;  thought  urging  action,  and  action  lead- 
ing to  the  evolution  of  still  better  thought ._- 

But,  were  this  freedom  to  come  suddenly,  I  have  no 
fear  of  the  consequences.  Individuals  might  commit 
excesses,  but  there  is  not  only  in  the  sex  a  reverence  for 
decorums  and  limits  inherited  and  enhanced  from  genera- 
tion to  generation,  which  many  years  of  other  life  could 
not  efface,  but  a  native  love,  in  Woman  as  Woman,  of 
proportion,  of  "the  simple  art  of  not  too  much," — a 
Greek  moderation,  which  would  create  immediately  a 
restraining  party,  the  natural  legislators  and  instructors 
15* 


174  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

of  the  rest,  and  would  gradually  establish  such  rules  as 
are  needed  to  guard,  without  impeding,  life. 

The  Graces  would  lead  the  choral  dance,  and  teach 
the  rest  to  regulate  their  steps  to  the  measure  of  beauty. 

But  if  you  ask  me  what  offices  they  may  fill,  I  reply 
—  any.  I  do  not  care  what  case  you  put ;  let  them  be 
sea-captains,  if  you  will.  I  do  not  doubt  there  are 
women  well  fitted  for  such  an  office,  and,  if  so,  I  should 
be  as  glad  to  see  them  in  it,  as  to  welcome  the  maid  of 
Saragossa,  or  the  maid  of  Missolonghi,  or  the  Suliote 
heroine,  or  Emily  Plater. 

I  think  women  need,  especially  at  this  juncture,  a 
much  greater  range  of  occupation  than  they  have,  to  rouse 
their  latent  powers.  A  party  of  travellers  lately  visited 
a  lonely  hut  on  a  mountain.  There  they  found  an  old 
woman,  who  told  them  she  and  her  husband  had  lived  there 
forty  years.  "Why,"  they  said,  "did  you  choose  so 
barren  a  spot  ?  "  She  "  did  not  know ;  it  was  the  riian^s 
notion.''^ 

And,  during  forty  years,  she  had  been  content  to  act, 
without  knowing  why,  upon  "the  man's  notion."  I 
would  not  have  it  so. 

In  families  that  I  know,  some  little  girls  like  to  saw 
wood,  others  to  use  carpenters'  tools.  Where  these  tastes 
are  indulged,  cheerfulness  and  good-humor  are  promoted. 
Where  they  are  forbidden,  because  "  such  things  are  not 
proper  for  gMs,"  they  grow  sullen  and  mischievous. 

Fourier  had  observed  these  wants  of  women,  as  no  one 
can  fail  to  do  who  watches  the  desires  of  little  girls,  or 
knows  the  ennui  that  haunts  grown  women,  except  where 


VARIETY    OF   EMPLOYMENTS.  175 

they  make  to  themselves  a  serene  little  world  by  art  of 
some  kind.  He,  therefore,  in  proposing  a  great  variety 
of  employments,  in  manufactures  or  the  care  of  plants 
and  animals,  allows  for  one  third  of  women  as  likely  to 
have  a  taste  for  masculine  pursuits,  one  third  of  men  for 
feminine. 

Who  does  not  observe  the  immediate  glow  and  serenity 
that  is  diffused  over  the  life  of  women,  before  restless  or 
fretful,  by  engaging  in  gardening,  building,  or  the  lowest 
department  of  art  ?  Here  is  something  that  is  not  routine, 
something  that  draws  forth  life  towards  the  infinite. 

I  have  no  doubt,  however,  that  a  large  proportion  of 
women  would  give  themselves  to  the  same  employments 
as  now,  because  there  are  circumstances  that  must  lead 
them.  Mothers  will  delight  to  make  the  nest  soft  and 
warm.  Nature  would  take  care  of  that ;  no  need  to  clip 
the  wings  of  any  bird  that  wants  to  soar  and  sing,  or  finds 
in  itself  the  strength  of  pinion  for  a  migratory  flight 
unusual  to  its  kind.  The  difference  would  be  that  all 
need  not  be  constrained  to  employments  for  which  some 
are  unfit.__ :._„_-..— ^^— 

I  have  urged  upon  the  sex  self-subsistence  in  its  two 
forms  of  self-reliance  and  self-impulse,  because  I  believe 
them  to  be  the  needed  means  of  the  present  juncture. 

I  have  urged  on  Woman  independence  of  Man,  not 
that  I  do  not  think  the  sexes  mutually  needed  by  one 
another,  but  because  in  Woman  this  fact  has  led  to  an 
excessive  devotion,  which  has  cooled  love,  degraded  mar- 
riage, and  prevented  either  sex  from  being  what  it  should 
be  to  itself  or  the  other. 


176  WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

I  wish  Woman  to  live,  first  for  God's  sake.  Then  she 
will  not  make  an  imperfect  man  her  god,  and  thus  sink 
to  idolatry.  Then  she  will  not  take  what  is  not  fit  for 
her  from  a  sense  of  weakness  and  poverty.  Then,  if  she 
finds  what  she  needs  in  Man  embodied,  she  will  know  how 
to  love,  and  be  worthy  of  being  loved. 

By  being  more  a  soul,  she  will  not  be  less  Woman,  for 
nature  is  perfected  through  spirit. 

Now  there  is  no  woman,  only  an  overgrown  child. 

That  her  hand  may  be  given  with  dignity,  she  must  be 
able  to  stand  alone.  ]  I  wish  to  see  men  and  women  capa- 
ble of  such  relations  as  are  depicted  by  Landor  in  his 
Pericles  and  Aspasia,  where  grace  is  the  natural  garb  of 
strength,  and  the  afiections  are  calm,  because  deep.  The 
softness  is  that  of  a  firm  tissue,  as  when 

"  The  gods  approve 
The  depth,  but  not  the  tumult  of  the  soul, 
A  fervent,  not  ungovernable  love." 

A  profound  thinker  has  said,  "  No  married  woman  can 
represent  the  female  world,  for  she  belongs  to  her  hus- 
band. The  idea  of  Woman  must  be  represented  by  a 
virgin." 

But  that  is  the  very  fault  of  marriage,  and  of  the  pres- 
ent relation  between  the  sexes,  that  the  woman  does 
belong  to  the  man,  instead  of  forming  a  whole  with  him. 
Were  it  otherwise,  there  Avould  be  no  such  limitation  to 
the  thought. 

Woman,  self-centred,  would  never  be  absorbed  by  any 
relation ;  it  would  be  only  an  experience  to  her  as  to 


BE  TRUE   TO-DAY.  177 

man.  It  is  a  vulgar  error  that  love,  a  love,  to  Woman 
is  her  whole  existence ;  she  also  is  born  for  Truth  and 
Love  in  their  universal  energy.  Would  she  but  assume 
her  inheritance,  Mary  would  not  be  the  only  virgin 
mother.  Not  Manzoni  alone  would  celebrate  in  his  wife 
the  virgin  mind  with  the  maternal  wisdom  and  conjugal 
affections.     The  soul  is  ever  young,  ever  virgin. 

And  will  not  she  soon  appear?  —  the  woman  who  shall 
vindicate  their  birthright  for  all  women ;  who  shall 
teach  them  what  to  claim,  and  how  to  use  what  they 
obtain  ?  Shall  not  her  name  be  for  her  era  Victoria,  for 
her  country  and  life  Virginia?  Yet  predictions  are 
rash ;  she  herself  must  teach  us  to  give  her  the  fitting 
name. 

An  idea  not  unknown  to  ancient  times  has  of  late  been 
revived,  that,  in  the  metamorphoses  of  life,  the  soul 
assumes  the  form,  first  of  Man,  then  of  Woman,  and 
takes  the  chances,  and  reaps  the  benefits  of  either  lot. 
Why  then,  say  some,  lay  such  emphasis  on  the  rights  or 
needs  of  Woman  ?  What  she  wins  not  as  Woman  will 
come  to  her  as  Man. 

That  makes  no  difference.  It  is  not  Woman,  but  the 
law  of  right,  the  law  of  growth,  that  speaks  in  us,  and 
demands  the  perfection  of  each  being  in  its  kind — apple 
as  apple,  Woman  as  Woman.  Without  adopting  your 
theory,  I  know  that  I,  a  daughter,  live  through  the  life 
of  Man ;  but  what  concerns  me  now  is,  that  my  life  be  a 
beautiful,  powerful,  in  a  word,  a  complete  life  in  its 
kind  Had  I  but  one  more  moment  to  live  I  must  wish 
the  same. 


178         WOMAN   IN   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

Suppose,  at  the  end  of  jour  cycle,  your  great  world- 
year,  all  will  be  completed,  whether  I  exert  myself  or 
not  (and  the  supposition  isfalse,  — but  suppose  it  true), 
am  I  to  be  indijQTerent  about  it  ?  Not  so  !  I  must  beat 
my  own  pulse  true  in  the  heart  of  the  world ;  for  that  is 
virtue,  excellence,  health. 

Thou,  Lord  of  Day  !  didst  leave  us  to-night  so  calmly 
glorious,  not  dismayed  that  cold  winter  is  coming,  not 
postponing  thy  beneficence  to  the  fruitful  summer  !  Thou 
didst  smile  on  thy  day's  work  when  it  was  done,  and 
adorn  thy  down-going  as  thy  up-rising,  for  thou  art 
loyal,  and  it  is  thy  nature  to  give  life,  if  thou  canst,  and 
shine  at  all  events  ! 

I  stand  in  the  sunny  noon  of  life.  Objects  no  longer 
glitter  in  the  dews  of  morning,  neither  are  yet  softened 
by  the  shadows  of  evening.  Every  spot  is  seen,  every 
chasm  revealed.  Climbing  the  dusty  hill,  some  fair  effi- 
gies that  once  stood  for  symbols  of  human  destiny  have 
been  broken  ;  those  I  still  have  with  me  show  defects  in 
this  broad  light.  Yet  enough  is  left,  even  by  experience, 
to  point  distinctly  to  the  glories  of  that  destiny ;  faint, 
but  not  to  be  mistaken  streaks  of  the  future  day.  I  can 
say  with  the  bard, 

**  Though  many  have  suffered  shipwreck,  still  beat  noble  hearts." 

Always  the  soul  says  to  us  all.  Cherish  your  best 
hopes  as  a  faith,  and  abide  by  them  in  action.  Such 
shall  be  the  effectual  fervent  means  to  their  fulfilment ; 

For  the  Power  to  whom  we  bow 
Has  given  its  pledge  that,  if  not  now, 


BE   TRUE   TO-DAY.  179 

They  of  pure  and  steadfast  mind, 
By  faith  exalted,  truth  refined. 
Shall  hear  all  music  loud  and  clear. 
Whose  first  notes  they  ventured  here. 
Then  fear  not  thou  to  wind  the  horn, 
Though  elf  and  gnome  thy  courage  scorn ; 
Ask  for  the  castle's  Kjng  and  Queen ; 
Though  rahble  rout  may  rush  between, 
Beat  thee  senseless  to  the  ground, 
In  the  dark  beset  thee  round ; 
Persist  to  ask,  and  it  will  come ; 
Seek  not  for  rest  in  humbler  home ; 
So  shalt  thou  see,  what  few  have  seen, 
The  palace  home  of  King  and  Queen. 
Ibth  November  J  1844. 


PART  II. 


MISCELLANIES 


16 


MISCELLANIES 


AGLAURON  AND   LAURIE. 

A  DEIVE  THROUGH  THE  COUNTRY  NEAR  BOSTON. 

Aglauron  and  Laurie  are  two  of  the  pleasantest  men 
I  know.  Laurie  combines,  with  the  external  advantages 
of  a  beautiful  person  and  easy  address,  all  the  charm 
which  quick  perceptions  and  intelligent  sympathy  give  to 
the  intercourse  of  daily  life.  He  has  an  extensive, 
though  not  a  deep,  knowledge  of  men  and  books,  —  his 
naturally  fine  taste  has  been  more  refined  by  observation, 
both  at  home  and  abroad,  than  is  usual  in  this  busy 
country :  and,  though  not  himself  a  thinker,  he  follows 
with  care  and  delight  the  flights  of  a  rapid  and  inventive 
mind.  He  is  one  of  those  rare  persons  who,  without 
being  servile  or  vacillating,  present  on  no  side  any  bar- 
rier to  the  free  action  of  another  mind.  Yes,  he  is 
really  an  agreeable  companion.  I  do  not  remember  ever 
to  have  been  wearied  or  chilled  in  his  company. 

Aglauron  is  a  person  of  far  greater  depth  and  force 
than  his  friend  and  cousin,  but  by  no  means  as  agreeable. 
His  mind  is  ardent  and  powerful,  rather  than  brilliant 
and  ready,  —  neither  does  he  with  ease  adapt  himself  to 


184  MISCELLANIES. 

the  course  of  another.  But,  when  he  is  once  kindled, 
the  blaze  of  light  casts  every  object  on  which  it  falls 
into  a  bold  relief,  and  gives  every  scene  a  lustre  unknown 
before.  He  is  not,  perhaps,  strictly  original  in  his 
thoughts  ;  but  the  severe  truth  of  his  character,  and  the 
searching  force  of  his  attention,  give  the  charm  of  origin- 
ality to  what  he  says.  Accordingly,  another  cannot,  by 
repetition,  do  it  justice.  I  have  never  any  doubt  when  I 
write  down  or  tell  what  Laurie  says,  but  Aglauron  must 
write  for  himself 

Yet  I  almost  always  take  notes  of  what  has  passed, 
for  the  amusement  of  a  distant  friend,  who  is  learning, 
amidst  the  western  prairies,  patience,  and  an  apprecia- 
tion of  the  poor  benefits  of  our  imperfectly  civilized  state. 
And  those  I  took  this  day,  seemed  not  unworthy  of  a 
more  general  circulation.  The  sparkle  of  talk,  the  free 
breeze  that  swelled  its  current,  are  always  fled  when  you 
write  it  down ;  but  there  is  a  gentle  floAV,  and  truth  to  the 
moment,  rarely  attained  in  more  elaborate  compositions. 

My  two  friends  called  to  ask  if  I  would  drive  with 
them  into  the  country,  and  I  gladly  consented.  It  was  a 
beautiful  afternoon  of  the  last  week  in  May.  Nature 
seemed  most  desirous  to  make  up  for  the  time  she  had 
lost  in  an  uncommonly  cold  and  wet  spring.  The  leaves 
were  bursting  from  their  sheaths  with  such  rapidity  that 
the  trees  seemed  actually  to  greet  you  as  you  passed 
along.  The  vestal  choirs  of  snow-drops  and  violets 
were  chanting  their  gentle  hopes  from  every  bank,  the 
orchards  were  white  with  blossoms,  and  the  birds  singing 
in  almost  tumultuous  glee. 


AGLAURON   AND    LAURIE.  185 

We  drove  for  some  time  in  silence,  perhaps  fearful  to 
disturb  the  universal  song  by  less  melodious  accents, 
when  Aglauron  said  : 

"  How  entirely  are  we  new-born  to-day  !  How  are  all 
the  past  cold  skies  and  hostile  breezes  vanished  before 
this  single  breath  of  sweetness !  How  consoling  is  the 
truth  thus  indicated !  " 

Laurie.  It  is  indeed  the  dearest  fact  of  our  conscious- 
ness, that,  in  every  moment  of  joy,  pain  is  annihilated. 
There  is  no  past,  and  the  future  is  only  the  sunlight 
streaming  into  the  far  valley. 

Aglauron.  Yet  it  was  the  night  that  taught  us  to 
prize  the  day. 

Laurie>  Even  so.  And  I,  you  know,  object  to  none 
of  the  '•  dark  masters." 

Aglauron.  Nor  I,  —  because  I  am  sure  that  whatever 
is,  is  good ;  and  to  find  out  the  why  is  all  our  employ- 
ment here.  But  one  feels  so  at  home  in  such  a  day  as 
this  ! 

Laurie.  As  this,  indeed  !  I  never  heard  so  many 
birds,  nor  saw  so  many  flowers.  Do  you  not  like  these 
yellow  flowers  ? 

Aglauron.  They  gleam  upon  the  fields  as  if  to 
express  the  bridal  kiss  of  the  sun.  He  seems  most  happy, 
if  not  most  wealthy,  when  first  he  is  wed  to  the  earth. 

Laurie.    I  believe  I  have  some  such  feeling  about 

these  golden  flowers.     When  I  did  not  know  what  was 

the  Asphodel,  so  celebrated  by  the  poets,  I  thuoght  it 

was  a  golden  flower ;  yet  this  yellow  is  so  ridiculed  as 

vulgar. 

16* 


186  MISCELLANIES. 

Aglauron.  It  is  because  our  vulgar  luxury  depreciates 
objects  not  fitted  to  adorn  our  dwellings.  These  yellow 
flowers  will  not  bear  being  taken  out  of  their  places  and 
brought  home  to  the  centre-table.  But,  when  enamelling 
the  ground,  the  cowslip,  the  king-cup,  —  nay,  the  mari- 
gold and  dandelion  even,  —  are  resplendently  beautiful. 

Laurie.  They  are  the  poor  man's  gold.  See  that 
dark,  unpainted  house,  with  its  lilac  shrubbery.  As  it 
stands,  undivided  from  the  road  to  which  the  green  bank 
slopes  down  from  the  door,  is  not  the  effect  of  that 
enamel  of  gold  dandelions  beautiful  ? 

Aglauron.  It  seems  as  if  a  stream  of  peace  had  flowed 
from  the  door-step  down  to  the  very  dust,  in  waves  of 
light,  to  greet  the  passer-by.  That  is,  indeed,  a  quiet 
house.  It  looks  as  if  somebody's  grandfather  lived  there 
still. 

Laurie.  It  is  most  refreshing  to  see  the  dark  boards 
amid  those  houses  of  staring  white.  Strange  that,  in 
the  extreme  heat  of  summer,  aching  eyes  don't  teach  the 
people  better. 

Aglauron.  We  are  still,  in  fact,  uncivilized,  for  all 
our  knowledge  of  what  is  done  "  in  foreign  parts  "  cannot 
make  us  otherwise.  Civilization  must  be  homogeneous, — 
must  be  a  natural  growth.  This  glistening  white  paint 
was  long  preferred  because  the  most  expensive ;  just  as 
in  the  West,  I  understand,  they  paint  houses  red  to 
make  them  resemble  the  hideous  red  brick.  And  the 
eye,  thus  spoiled  by  excitement,  prefers  red  or  white  to 
the  stone-color,  or  the  browns,  which  would  harmonize 
with  other  hues. 


AGLAURON   AND   LATIRIE.  187 

Laurie,  I  should  think  the  eye  could  never  be  spoiled 
so  far  as  to  like  these  white  palings.  These  bars  of 
glare  amid  the  foliage  are  unbearable. 

Myself.    What  color  should  they  be  ? 

Laurie.  An  invisible  green,  as  in  all  civilized  parts 
of  the  globe.  Then  your  eye  would  rest  on  the  shrub- 
bery undisturbed. 

Myself.  Your  vaunted  Italy  has  its  palaces  of  white 
stucco  and  buildings  of  brick. 

Laurie.  Ay,  —  but  the  stucco  is  by  the  atmosphere 
soon  mellowed  into  cream-color,  the  brick  into  rich 
brown. 

Myself  I  have  heard  a  connoisseur  admire  our  own 
red  brick  in  the  afternoon  sun,  above  all  other  colors. 

Laurie.  There  are  some  who  delight  too  much  in  the 
stimulus  of  color  to  be  judges  of  harmony  of  coloring. 
It  is  so,  often,  with  the  Italians.  No  color  is  too  keen 
for  the  eye  of  the  Neapolitan.  He  thinks,  with  little 
Riding-hood,  there  is  no  color  like  red.  I  have  seen  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  new  palaces  paved  with  tiles  of  a 
brilliant  red.     But  this,  too,  is  barbarism. 

Myself.  You  are  pleased  to  call  it  so,  because  you 
make  the  English  your  arbiters  in  point  of  taste ;  but  I 
do  not  think  they,  on  your  own  principle,  are  our  proper 
models.  With  their  ever- weeping  skies,  and  seven-piled 
velvet  of  verdure,  they  are  no  rule  for  us,  whose  eyes 
are  accustomed  to  the  keen  blue  and  brilliant  clouds  of 
our  own  realm,  and  who  see  the  earth  wholly  green 
scarce  two  months  in  the  year.  No  white  is  more  glis- 
tening than  our  January  snows;  no  house  here  hurts  my 


188  MISCELLANIES. 

eye  more  than  the  fields  of  white-weed  will,  a  fortnight 
hence. 

Law'ie.  True  refinement  of  taste  would  bid  the  eye 
seek  repose  the  more.  But,  even  admitting  what  you 
say,  there  is  no  harmony.  The  architecture  is  borrowed 
from  England;   why  not  the  rest? 

Aglaiiron.  But,  my  friend,  surely  these  piazzas  and 
pipe-stem  pillars  are  all  American. 

Laurie.  But  the  cottage  to  which  they  belong  is  Eng- 
lish. The  inhabitants,  suffocating  in  small  rooms,  and 
beneath  sloping  roofs,  because  the  house  is  too  low  to 
admit  any  circulation  of  air,  are  in  need,  we  must  admit, 
of  the  piazza,  for  elsewhere  they  must  suffer  all  the  tor- 
ments of  Mons.  Chaubert  in  his  first  experience  of  the 
oven.  But  I  do  not  assail  the  piazzas,  at  any  rate ;  they 
are  most  desirable,  in  these  hot  summers  of  ours,  were 
they  but  in  proportion  with  the  house,  and  their  pillars 
with  one  another.  But  I  do  object  to  houses  which  are 
desirable  neither  as  summer  nor  winter  residences  here. 
The  shingle  palaces,  celebrated  by  Irving' s  wit,  were  far 
more  appropriate,  for  they,  at  least,  gave  free  course  to 
the  winds  of  heaven,  when  the  thermometer  stood  at 
ninety-five  degrees  in  the  shade. 

Aglauron.  Pity  that  American  wit  nipped  in  the 
bud  those  early  attempts  at  an  American  architecture. 
Here  in  the  East,  alas  !  the  case  is  become  hopeless.  But 
in  the  West  the  log-cabin  still  promises  a  proper  basis. 

Laurie.  You  laugh  at  me.  But  so  it  is.  I  am  not 
so  silly  as  to  insist  upon  American  architecture,  Ameri- 
can art,  in  the  4th  of  July  style,  merely  for  the  grati- 


AGLAURON  AND   LAURIE.  189 

fication  of  national  vanity.  But  a  building,  to  be  beau- 
tiful, should  harmonize  exactly  with  the  uses  to  which  it 
is  to  be  put,  and  be  an  index  to  the  climate  and  habits  of 
the  people.  There  is  no  objection  to  borrowing  good 
thoughts  from  other  nations,  if  we  adopt  the  new  style 
because  we  find  it  will  serve  our  convenience,  and  not 
merely  because  it  looks  pretty  outside. 

Aglauron.  I  agree  with  you  that  here,  as  well  as  in 
manners  and  in  literature,  there  is  too  ready  access  to  the 
old  stock,  and,  though  I  said  it  in  jest,  my  hope  is,  in 
truth,  the  log-cabin.  This  the  settler  will  enlarge,  as  his 
riches  and  his  family  increase ;  he  will  beautify  as  his 
character  refines,  and  as  his  eye  becomes  accustomed  to 
observe  objects  around  him  for  their  loveliness  as  well  as 
for  their  utility.  He  will  borrow  from  Nature  the  forms 
and  coloring  most  in  harmony  with  the  scene  in  which 
his  dwelling  is  placed.  Might  growth  here  be  but  slow 
enough !  Might  not  a  greediness  for  gain  and  show 
cheat  men  of  all  the  real  advantages  of  their  experience  ! 

(Here  a  carriage  passed.) 

Laurie.  Who  is  that  beautiful  lady  to  whom  you 
bowed  ? 

Aglauron.  Beautiful  do  you  think  her?  At  this 
distance,  and  with  the  freshness  which  the  open  air  gives 
to  her  complexion,  she  certainly  does  look  so,  and  was  so 
still,  five  years  ago,  when  I  knew  her  abroad.  It  is 
Mrs.  V . 

Laurie.  I  remember  with  what  interest  you  men- 
tioned her  in  your  letters.  And  you  promised  to  tell  me 
her  true  story. 


190  MISCELLANIES. 

Aglauron.  I  was  much  interested,  then,  both  in  her 
and  her  story.  But,  last  winter,  when  I  met  her  at  the 
South,  she  had  altered,  and  seemed  so  much  less  attrac- 
tive than  before,  that  the  bright  colors  of  the  picture  are 
well-nigh  eflfaced. 

Laurie.  The  pleasure  of  telling  the  story  will  revive 
them  again.  Let  us  fasten  our  horses  and  go  into  this 
little  wood.  There  is  a  seat  near  the  lake  which  is  pretty 
enough  to  tell  a  story  upon. 

Aylauron.  In  all  the  idyls  I  ever  read,  they  were 
told  in  caves,  or  beside  a  trickling  fountain. 

Laurie.  That  was  in  the  last  century.  We  will 
innovate.  Let  us  begin  that  American  originality  we 
were  talking  about,  and  make  the  bank  of  a  lake  answer 
our  purpose. 

We  dismounted  accordingly,  but,  on  reaching  the  spot, 
Aglauron  at  first  insisted  on  lying  on  the  grass,  and  gaz- 
ing up  at  the  clouds  in  a  most  uncitizen-like  fashion,  and 
it  was  some  time  before  we  could  get  the  promised  story. 

At  last,  — 

I  first  saw  Mrs.  Y at  the  opera  in  Vienna.    Abroad, 

I  scarcely  cared  for  anything  in  comparison  with  music. 
Li  many  respects  the  Old  World  disappointed  my  hopes ; 
society  was,  in  essentials,  no  better,  nor  worse,  than  at 
home,  and  I  too  easily  saw  through  the  varnish  of  con- 
ventional refinement.  Lions,  seen  near,  were  scarcely 
more  interesting  than  tamer  cattle,  and  much  more  an- 
noying in  their  gambols  and  caprices.     Parks  and  orna- 


AGLAURON   AND   LAURIE.  191 

mental  grounds  pleased  me  less  than  the  native  forests  and 
wide-rolling  rivers  of  my  own  land.  But  in  the  Arts,  and 
most  of  all  in  Music,  I  found  all  my  wishes  more  than 
realized.  I  found  the  soul  of  man  uttering  itself  with 
the  swiftness,  the  freedom  and  the  beauty,  for  which  I  had 
always  pined.  I  easily  conceived  how  foreigners,  once 
acquainted  with  this  diverse  language,  pass  their  lives 
without  a  wish  for  pleasure  or  employment  beyond  hear- 
ing the  great  works  of  the  masters.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  here  was  wealth  to  feed  the  thoughts  for  ages. 
This  lady  fixed  my  attention  by  the  rapturous  devotion 
with  which  she  listened.  I  saw  that  she  too  had  here  found 
her  proper  home.  Every  shade  of  thought  and  feeling 
expressed  in  the  music  was  mirrored  in  her  beautiful 
countenance.  Her  rapture  of  attention,  during  some  pas- 
sages, was  enough  of  itself  to  make  you  hold  your  breath ; 
and  a  sudden  stroke  of  genius  lit  her  face  into  a  very 
heaven  with  its  lightning.  It  seemed  to  me  that  in  her  I 
should  find  one  who  would  truly  sympathize  with  me,  one 
who  looked  on  the  art  not  as  a  connoisseur,  but  a  votary. 

I  took  the  speediest  opportunity  of  being  introduced  to 
her  at  her  own  house  by  a  common  friend. 

But  what  a  difference  !  At  home  I  scarcely  know  her. 
Still  she  was  beautiful ;  but  the  sweetness,  the  elevated 
expression,  which  the  satisfaction  of  an  hour  had  given 
her,  were  entirely  fled.  Her  eye  was  restless,  her 
cheek  pale  and  thin,  her  whole  expression  perturbed  and 
sorrowful.  Every  gesture  spoke  the  sickliness  of  a  spirit 
long  an  outcast  from  its  natural  home,  bereft  of  happi- 
ness, and  hopeless  of  good. 


192  MISCELLANIES. 

I  perceived,  at  first  sight  of  her  every-day  face,  that 
it  was  not  unknown  to  me.  Three  or  four  years  earlier, 
staying  in  the  country-house  of  one  of  her  friends,  I  had 
seen  her  picture.  The  house  was  very  dull, —  as  dull  as 
placid  content  with  the  mere  material  enjoyments  of  life, 
and  an  inert  gentleness  of  nature,  could  make  its  inhab- 
itants. They  were  people  to  be  loved,  but  loved  without 
a  thought.  Their  wings  had  never  grown,  nor  their  eyes 
coveted  a  wider  prospect  than  could  be  seen  from  the 
parent  nest.  The  friendly  visitant  could  not  discompose 
them  by  a  remark  indicating  any  expansion  of  mind  or 
life.  Much  as  I  enjoyed  the  beauty  of  the  country  around, 
when  out  in  the  free  air,  my  hours  within  the  house 
would  have  been  dull  enough  but  for  the  contemplation 
of  this  picture.  While  the  round  of  common-place  songs 
was  going  on,  and  the  whist-players  were  at  their  work,  I 
used  to  sit  and  wonder  how  this  being,  so  sovereign  in  the 
fire  of  her  nature,  so  proud  in  her  untamed  loveliness, 
could  ever  have  come  of  their  blood.  Her  eye,  from  the 
canvas,  even,  seemed  to  annihilate  all  things  low  or  little, 
and  able  to  command  all  creation  in  search  of  the  object 
of  its  desires.  She  had  not  found  it,  though  ;  I  felt  this 
on  seeing  her  now.  She,  the  queenly  woman,  the  Boa- 
dicea  of  a  forlorn  hope,  as  she  seemed  born  to  be,  the 
only  woman  whose  face,  to  my  eye,  had  ever  given  prom- 
ise of  a  prodigality  of  nature  sufficient  for  the  enter- 
tainment of  a  poet's  soul,  was  —  I  saw  it  at  a  glance  — 
a  captive  in  her  life,  and  a  beggar  in  her  afiections. 

Laurie.  A  dangerous  object  to  the  traveller's  eye, 
methinks  ! 


AGLAURON   AND   LAURIE.  193 

Aglavron.  Not  to  mine  !  The  picture  had  been  so  ; 
but,  seeing  her  now,  I  felt  that  the  glorious  promise  of 
her  youthful  prime  had  failed.  She  had  missed  her 
course ;  and  the  beauty,  whose  charm  to  the  imagination 
had  been  that  it  seemed  invincible,  was  now  subdued  and 
mixed  with  earth. 

Laurie.  I  can  never  comprehend  the  cruelty  in  your 
way  of  viewing  human  beings,  Aglauron.  To  err,  to 
suffer,  is  their  lot ;  all  who  have  feeling  and  energy  of 
character  must  share  it;  and  I  could  not  endure  a 
•woman  who  at  six-and-twenty  bore  no  trace  of  the 
past. 

Aglauron.  Such  women  and  such  men  are  the  com- 
panions of  every-day  life.  But  the  angels  of  oui-  thoughts 
are  those  moulds  of  pure  beauty  which  must  break  with 
a  fall.  The  common  air  must  not  touch  them,  for  they 
make  their  own  atmosphere.  I  admit  that  such  are  not 
for  the  tenderness  of  daily  life ;  their  influence  must  be 
high,  distant,  starlike,  to  be  pure. 

'Such  was  this  woman  to  me  before  I  knew  her :  one 
whose  splendid  beauty  drew  on  my  thoughts  to  their 
future  home.  In  knowing  her,  I  lost  the  happiness  I  had 
enjoyed  in  knowing  what  she  should  have  been.  At  first 
the  disappointment  was  severe,  but  I  have  learnt  to  par- 
don her,  as  others  who  get  mutilated  or  worn  in  life,  and 
show  the  royal  impress  only  in  their  virgin  courage. 
But  this  subject  would  detain  me  too  long.  Let  me 
rather  tell  you  of  Mrs.  V 's  sad  history. 

A  friend  of  mine  has  said  that  beautiful  persons  seem 
rarely  born  to  their  proper  family,  but  amidst  persona 
17 


194  MISCELLANIES. 

SO  rough  and  uncongenial  that  their  presence  commands 
like  that  of  a  reproving  angel,  or  pains  like  that  of  some 
poor  prince  changed  at  nurse,  and  bound  for  life  to  the 
society  of  churls. 

So'  it  was  with  Emily.  Her  father  was  sordid,  her 
mother  weak ;  persons  of  great  wealth  and  greater  self- 
ishness. She  was  the  youngest  by  many  years,  and  left 
alone  in  her  father's  hduse.  Notwithstanding  the  want 
of  intelligent  sympathy  while  she  was  growing  up,  and 
the  want  of  all  intelligent  culture,  she  was  not  an 
unhappy  child.  The  unbounded  and  foolish  indulgence 
with  which  she  was  treated  did  not  have  an  obviously  bad 
effect  upon  her  then ;  it  did  not  make  her  selfish,  sen- 
sual, or  vain.  Her  character  was  too  powerful  to  dAvell 
upon  such  boons  as  those  nearest  her  could  bestow.  She 
negligently  received  them  all  as  her  due.  It  was  Jater 
that  ihe  pernicious  effects  of  the  absence  of  all  discipline 
showed  themselves  ;  but  in  early  years  she  was  happy  in 
her  lavish  feelings,  and  in  beautiful  nature,  on  which  she 
could  pour  them,  and  in  her  own  pursuits.  Music  was 
her  passion  ;  in  it  she  found  food,  and  an  answer  for  feel- 
ings destined  to  become  so  fatal  to  her  peace,  but  which 
then  glowed  so  sweetly  in  her  youthful  form  as  to  enchant 
the  most  ordinary  observer. 

When  she  was  not  more  than  fifteen,  and  expanding 
like  a  flower  in  each  sunny  day,  it  was  her  misfortune 
that  her  first  husband  saw  and  loved  her.  Emily,  though 
pleased  by  his  handsome  person  and  gay  manners,  never 
bestowed  a  serious  thought  on  him.  If  she  had,  it  would 
have  been  the  first  ever  disengaged  from  her  life  of  pleas- 


AGLAURON    ANT)   LAURIE.  195 

Urable  sensation.  But  when  he  did  plead  his  cause 
with  all  the  ardor  of  youth,  and  the  flourishes  which  have 
been  bj  usage  set  apart  for  such  occasions,  she  listened 
with  delight ;  for  all  his  talk  of  boundless  love,  undjing 
faith,  etc.,  seemed  her  native  tongue.  It  was  like  the 
most  glowing  sunset  sky.  It  swelled  upon  the  ear  like 
music.  It  was  the  only  way  she  ever  wished  to  be 
addressed,  and  she  now  saw  plainly  why  all  talk  of  every- 
day people  had  fallen  unlieeded  on  her  ear.  She  could 
have  listened  all  day.  But  when,  emboldened  by  the 
beaming  eye  and  ready  smile  with  which  she  heard,  he 
pressed  his  suit  more  seriously,  and  talked  of  marriage, 
she  drew  back  astonished.  Marry  yet  ?  —  impossible  ! 
She  had  never  thought  of  it ;  and  as  she  thought  now 
of  marriages,  such  as  she  had  seen  them,  there  was  noth- 
ing in  marriage  to  attract.     But  L was  not  so  easily 

repelled  ;  he  made  her  every  promise  of  pleasure,  as  one 
would  to  a  child.  He  would  take  her  away  to  journey 
through  scenes  more  beautiful  than  she  had  ever  dreamed 
of;  he  would  take  her  to  a  city  where,  in  the  fairest 
home,  she  should  hear  the  finest  music,  and  he  himself. 
in  every  scene,  would  be  her  devoted  slave,  too  happy  if 
for  every  new  pleasure  he  received  one  of  those  smiles 
which  had  become  his  life. 

He  saw  her  yielding,  and  hastened  to  secure  her.  Her 
father  was  delighted,  as  fathers  are  strangely  wont  to  be. 
that  he  was  likely  to  be  deprived  of  his  child,  his  pet, 
his  pride.  The  mother  was  threefold  delighted  that  she 
would  have  a  daughter  married  so  youjig, —  at  least  three 
years   younger   than     any   of  her    elder    sisters   were 


196  MISCELLANIES. 

married.  Both  lent  their  influence ;  and  Emily,  accus- 
tomed to  rel J  on  them  against  all  peril  and  annoyance, 
till  she  scarcely  knew  there  was  pain  or  evil  in  the  world, 
gave  her  consent,  as  she  would  have  given  it  to  a  pleasure- 
party  for  a  day  or  a  week. 

The  marriage  was  hurried  on ;  L intent  on  gain- 
ing his  object,  as  men  of  strong  will  and  no  sentiment  are 
wont  to  be,  the  parents  thinking  of  the  eclat  of  the 
match.  Emily  was  amused  by  the  preparations  for  the 
festivity,  and  full  of  excitement  about  the  new  chapter 
which  was  to  be  opened  in  her  life.  Yet  so  little  idea  had 
she  of  the  true  business  of  life,  and  the  importance  of  its 
ties,  that  perhaps  there  was  no  figure  in  the  future  that 
occupied  her  less  than  that  of  her  bridegroom,  a  hand- 
some man,  with  a  sweet  voice,  her  captive,  her  adorer. 
She  neither  thought  nor  saw  further,  lulled  by  the  pictures 
of  bliss  and  adventure  which  were  floating  before  her 
fancy,  the  more  enchanting  because  so  vague. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  the  picture  that  so  charmed 
me  was  taken.  The  exquisite  rose  had  not  yet  opened 
its  leaves  so  as  to  show  its  heart;  but  its  fragrance  and 
blushful  pride  w^ere  there  in  perfection. 

Poor  Emily !  She  had  the  promised  journeys,  the 
splendid  home.  Amid  the  former  her  mind,  opened  by 
new  scenes,  already  learned  that  something  she  seemed  to 
possess  was  wanting  in  the  too  constant  companion  of  her 
days.  In  the  splendid  home  she  received  not  only 
musicians,  but  other  visitants,  who  taught  her  strange 
things. 

Four  little  months  after  her  leaving  home,  her  parents 


AGLAURON  AND   LAURIE.  197 

were  astonished  by  receiving  a  letter  in  "which  she  told 
them  they  had  parted  with  her  too  soon ;  that  she  was  not 

happy  with  Mr  L ,  as  he  had  promised  she  should  be, 

and  that  she  wished  to  have  her  marriage  broken.  She 
urged  her  father  to  make  haste  about  it,  as  she  had  par- 
ticular reasons  for  impatience.  You  may  easily  conceive 
of  the  astonishment  of  the  good  folks  at  home.  Her 
mother  wondered  and  cried.  Her  father  immediately 
ordered  his  horses,  and  went  to  her. 

He  was  received  with  rapturous  delight,  and  almost  at 
the  first  moment  thanked  for  his  speedy  compliance  with 
her  request.  But  when  she  found  that  he  opposed  her 
desire  of  having  her  marriage  broken,  and  when  she 
urged  him  with  vehemence  and  those  marks  of  caressing 
fondness  she  had  been  used  to  find  all-powerful,  and  he 
told  her  at  last  it  could  not  be  done,  she  gave  way  to  a 
paroxysm  of  passion ;  she  declared  that  she  could  not  and 

would  not  live  with  Mr.  L ;   that,  so  soon  as  she 

saw  anything  of  the  world,  she  saw  many  men  that  she 
infinitely  preferred  to  him ;  and  that,  since  her  father  and 
mother,  instead  of  guarding  her,  so  mere  a  child  as  she 
was,  so  entirely  inexperienced,  against  a  hasty  choice,  had 
persuaded  and  urged  her  to  it,  it  was  their  duty  to  break 
the  match  when  they  found  it  did  not  make  her  happy. 

''My  child,  you  are  entirely  unreasonable." 

"It  is  not  a  time  to  be  patient;  and  I  was  too  yield- 
ing before.  I  am  not  seventeen.  Is  the  happiness  of  my 
whole  life  to  be  sacrificed?  " 

''Emily,   you  terrify  me!     Do  you  love   anybody 

else?" 

17* 


198  MISCELLANIES. 

"  Not  yet ;  but  I  am  sure  I  shall  find  some  one  to  love, 
now  I  know  what  it  is.  I  have  seen  already  many  whom 
I  prefer  to  Mr.  L ." 

''Is  he  not  kind  to  you ? " 

"  Kind  !  yes ;  but  he  is  perfectly  uninteresting.  I 
hate  to  be  with  him.  I  do  not  wish  his  kindness,  nor  to 
remain  in  his  house." 

In  vain  her  father  argued ;  she  insisted  that  she  could 
never  be  happy  as  she  was ;  that  it  was  impossible  the 
law  could  be  so  cruel  as  to  bind  her  to  a  vow  she  had 
taken  when  so  mere  a  child ;  that  she  would  go  home 
with  her  father  now,  and  they  would  see  what  could  be 
done.  She  added  that  she  had  already  told  her  husband 
her  resolution. 

"  And  how  did  he  bear  it  ?  " 

"  He  was  very  angry ;  but  it  is  better  for  him  to  be 
angry  once  than  unhappy  always,  as  I  should  certainly 
make  him  did  I  remain  here." 

After  long  and  fruitless  attempts  to  reason  her  into  a 
difierent  state  of  mind,  the  father  went  in  search  of  the 
husband.  He  found  him  irritated  and  mortified.  He 
loved  his  wife,  in  his  way,  for  her  personal  beauty.  He 
was  very  proud  of  her ;  he  was  piqued  to  the  last  degree 
by  her  frankness.  He  could  not  but  acknowledge  the 
truth  of  what  she  said,  that  she  had  been  persuaded  into 
the  match  when  but  a  child;  for  she  seemed  a  very 
infant  now,  in  wilfulness  and  ignorance  of  the  world. 
But  I  believe  neither  he  nor  her  father  had  one  compunc- 
tious misgiving  as  to  their  having  profaned  the  holiness 
of  marriage  by  such  an  union.     Their  minds  had  never 


AGLAURON   AND   LAURIE.  190 

been  opened  to  the  true  meaning  of  life,  and,  though  they 
thought  themselves  so  much  wiser,  they  were  in  truth 
much  less  so  than  the  poor,  passionate  Emily, —  for  her 
heart,  at  least,  spoke  clearly,  if  her  mind  lay  in  darkness. 

They  could  do  nothing  with  her,  and  her  father  was  at 
length  compelled  to  take  her  home,  hoping  that  her 
mother  might  be  able  to  induce  her  to  see  things  in  a 
different  light.  But  father,  mother,  uncles,  brothers,  all 
reasoned  with  her  in  vain.  Totally  unused  to  disappoint- 
ment, she  could  not  for  a  long  time  believe  that  she  was 
forever  bound  by  a  bond  that  sat  uneasily  on  her  untamed 
spirit.  When  at  last  convinced  of  the  truth,  her  despair 
was  terrible. 

"  Am  I  his  ?  his  forever  ?  Must  I  never  then  love  ? 
Never  marry  one  whom  I  could  really  love  ?  Mother  !  it 
is  too  cruel.  I  cannot,  will  not  believe  it.  You  always 
wished  me  to  belong  to  him.  You  do  not  now  wish  to 
aid  me,  or  you  are  afraid  !  0,  you  would  not  be  so, 
could  you  but  know  what  I  feel ! '' 

At  last  convinced,  she  then  declared  that  if  she  could 

not  be  legally  separated  from  L ,  but  must  consent 

to  bear  his  name,  and  never  give  herself  to  another,  she 
would  at  least  live  with  him  no  more.  She  would  not 
again  leave  her  father's  house.  Here  she  was  deaf  to  all 
argument,  and  only  force  could  have  driven  her  away. 

Her  indifference  to  L had  become  hatred,  in  the 

course  of  these  thoughts  and  conversations.  She  regarded 
herself  as  his  victim,  and  him  as  her  betrayer,  since,  she 
said,  he  was  old  enough  to  know  the  importance  of  the 
step  to  which  he  led  her.     Her  mind,  naturally  noble, 


200  MISCELLANIES. 

though  now  in  this  wild  state,  refused  to  admit  his  love 
as  an  excuse.  ''  Had  he  loved  me,"  she  said,  "  he  would 
have  wished  to  teach  me  to  love  him,  before  securing  me 
as  his  property.  He  is  as  selfish  as  he  is  dull  and  unin- 
teresting. No  !  I  will  drag  on  mj  miserable  years  here 
alone,  but  I  will  not  pretend  to  love  him,  nor  gratify  him 
by  the  sight  of  his  slave  !  " 

A  year  and  more  passed,  and  found  the  unhappy 
Emily  inflexible.  Her  husband  at  last  sought  employ- 
ment abroad,  to  hide  his  mortification. 

After  his  departure,  Emily  relaxed  once  from  the 
severe  coldness  she  had  shown  since  her  return  home. 
She  had  passed  her  time  there  with  her  music,  in  reading 
poetry,  in  solitary  walks.  But  as  the  person  who  had 
been,  however  unintentionally,  the  means  of  making  her 
so  miserable,  was  further  removed  from  her,  she  showed 
willingness  to  mingle  again  with  the  family,  and  see  one 
or  two  young  friends. 

One  of  these,  Almeria,  effected  what  all  the  armament 
of  praying  and  threatening  friends  had  been  unable  to  do. 
She  devoted  herself  to  Emily.  She  shared  her  employ- 
ments and  her  walks  ;  she  sympathized  with  all  her  feel- 
ings, even  the  morbid  ones  which  she  saw  to  be  sincerity, 
tenderness  and  delicacy  gone  astray, —  perverted  and 
soured  by  the  foolish  indulgence  of  her  education,  and 
the  severity  of  her  destiny  made  known  suddenly  to  a 
mind  quite  unprepared.  At  last,  having  won  the  confi- 
dence and  esteem  of  Emily,  by  the  wise  and  gentle  check 
her  justice  and  clear  perceptions  gave  to  all  extravagance, 


AQLAURON   AND   LAURIE.  201 

Almeria  ventured  on  representing  to  Emily  her  conduct 
as  the  world  saw  it. 

To  this  she  found  her  quite  insensible.  ''  What  is  the 
world  to  me  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  am  forbidden  to  seek  there 
all  it  can  offer  of  value  to  Woman  —  sympathy  and  a 
home." 

'^It  is  full  of  beauty  still,"  said  Almeria,  looking  out 
into  the  golden  and  perfumed  glories  of  a  June  day. 

"  Not  to  the  prisoner  and  the  slave,"  said  Emily. 

''  All  are  such,  whom  God  hath  not  made  free;  "  and 
Almeria  gently  ventured  to  explain  the  hopes  of  larger 
span  which  enable  the  soul  that  can  soar  upon  their 
wings  to  disregard  the  limitations  of  seventy  years. 

Emily  listened  with  profound  attention.  The  words 
were  familiar  to  her,  but  the  tone  was  not ;  it  was  that 
which  rises  from  the  depths  of  a  purified  spirit, —  purified 
by  pain,  softened  into  peace. 

"Have  you  made  any  use  of  these  thoughts  in  your 
life,  Almeria?  " 

The  lovely  preacher  hesitated  not  to  reveal  a  tale  be- 
fore unknown  except  to  her  own  heart,  of  woe,  renuncia- 
tion, and  repeated  blows  from  a  hostile  fate. 

'  Emily  heard  it  in  silence,  but  she  understood.  The 
great  illusions  of  youth  vanished.  She  did  not  suffer 
alone  ;  her  lot  was  not  peculiar.  Another,  perhaps  many, 
were  forbidden  the  bliss  of  sympathy  and  a  congenial 
environment.  And  what  had  Almeria  done  ?  Revenged 
herself?  Tormented  all  around  her?  Clung  with  wild 
passion  to  a  selfish  resolve  ?  Not  at  all.  She  had  made 
the  best  of  a  wreck  of  life,  and  deserved  a  blessing  on  a 


202  MISCELLANIES. 

new  voyage.  She  had  sought  consolation  in  disinterested 
tenderness  for  her  fellow-suflferers,  and  she  deserved  to 
cease  to  suiGfer. 

The  lesson  was  taken  home,  and  gradually  leavened  the 
whole  being  of  this  spoiled  but  naturally  noble  child. 

A  few  weeks  afterwards,  she  asked  her  father  wheii 
Mr.  L was  expected  to  return. 

''  In  about  three  months,"  he  replied,  much  surprised. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  you  write  to  him  for  me." 

"What  new  absurdity?"  said  the  father,  who,  long 
mortified  and  harassed,  had  ceased  to  be  a  fond  father  to 
his  once  adored  Emily. 

''  Say  that  my  views  are  unchanged  as  to  his  soliciting 
a  marriage  with  me  when  too  childish  to  know  my  own 
mind  on  that  or  any  other  subject ;  but  I  have  now  seen 
enough  of  the  world  to  know  that  he  meant  no  ill,  if  no 
good;  and  was  no  more  heedless  in  this  great  matter  than 
many  others  are.  He  is  not  born  to  know  what  one  con- 
stituted like  me  must  feel,  in  a  home  where  I  found  no 
rest  for  my  heart.  I  have  now  read,  seen  and  thought, 
what  has  made  me  a  woman.  I  can  be  what  you  call 
reasonable,  though  not  perhaps  in  your  way.  I  see  that 
my  misfortune  is  irreparable.  I  heed  not  the  world's 
opinion,  and  would,  for  myself,  rather  remain  here,  and 
keep  up  no  semblance  of  a  connection  which  my  matured 
mind  disclaims.  But  that  scandalizes  you  and  my 
mother,  and  makes  your  house  a  scene  of  pain  and  morti- 
fication in  your  old  age.  I  know  you,  too,  did  not 
neglect  the  charge  of  me,  in  your  own  eyes.  I  owe  you 
gratitude  for  your  affectionate  intentions  at  least. 


AGLAURON   AND   LAURIE.  203 

* 

"  L too  is  as  miserable  as  mortification  can  make  one 

like  him.  Write,  and  ask  him  if  he  wishes  m  j  presence  in 
his  house  on  mj  own  terms.  He  must  not  expect  from 
me  the  afiection,  or  marks  of  affection,  of  a  w4fe.  I  should 
never  have  been  his  wife  had  I  waited  till  I  understood 
life  or  myself  But  I  will  be  his  attentive  and  friendly 
companion,  the  mistress  of  his  house,  if  he  pleases.  To 
the  world  it  will  seem  enough, —  he  will  be  more  comfort- 
able there, —  and  what  he  wished  of  me  was,  in  a  great 
measure,  to  show  me  to  the  world.  I  saw  that,  as  soon  as 
we  were  in  it,  I  could  not  give  him  happiness  if  I  would, 
for  we  have  not  a  thought  nor  employment  in  common. 
But  if  we  can  agree  on  the  way,  we  may  live  together 
without  any  one  being  very  miserable  except  myself,  and 
I  have  made  up  my  mind." 

The  astonishment  of  the  father  may  be  conceived,  and 
his  cavils  ;  L 's  also. 

To  cut  the  story  short,  it  was  settled  in  Emily's  way, 
for  she  was  one  of  the  sultana  kind,  dread  and  dangerous. 

L hardly  wished  her  to  love  him  now,  for  he  half 

,  hated  her  for  all  she  had  done  ;  yet  he  was  glad  to  have 
her  back,  as  she  had  judged,  for  the  sake  of  appearances. 
All  was  smoothed  over  by  a  plausible  story.  People, 
indeed,  knew  the  truth  as  to  the  fair  one's  outrageous 

conduct  perfectly,  but  Mr.   L was  rich,   his  wife 

beautiful,  and  gave  good  parties  ;  so  society,  as  such, 
bowed  and  smiled,  while  individuals  scandalized  the  pair. 

They  had  been  living  on  this  footing  for  several  years, 
when  I  saw  Emily  at  the  opera.  She  was  a  much  altered 
being.     Debarred  of  happiness  in  her  affections,  she  had 


204  MISCELLANIES. 

turned  for  sokce  to  the  intellectual  life,  and  her  natu- 
rally powerful  and  brilliant  mind  had  matured  into  a 
splendor  which  had  never  been  dreamed  of  by  those  who 
had  seen  her  amid  the  freaks  and  daj-dreams  of  her  early 
youth. 

Yet.  as  I  said  before,  she  was  not  captivating  to  me, 
as  her  picture  had  been.  She  was,  in  a  different  way,  as 
beautiful  in  feature  and  coloring  as  in  her  spring-time. 
Her  beauty,  all  moulded  and  mellowed  by  feeling,  was  far 
more  eloquent ;  but  it  had  none  of  the  virgin  magnifi- 
cence, the  untouched  tropical  luxuriance,  which  had  fired 
my  fancy.  The  false  position  in  which  she  lived  had 
shaded  her  expression  with  a  painful  restlessness ;  and 
her  eye  proclaimed  that  the  conflicts  of  her  mind  had 
strengthened,  had  deepened,  but  had  not  yet  hallowed, 
her  character. 

She  was,  however,  interesting,  deeply  so  ;  one  of  those 
rare  beings  who  fill  your  eye  in  every  mood.  Her  passion 
for  music,  and  the  great  excellence  she  had  attained  as  a 
performer,  drew  us  together.  I  was  her  daily  visitor ; 
but,  if  my  admiration  ever  softened  into  tenderness,  it  was 
the  tenderness  of  pity  for  her  unsatisfied  heart,  and  cold, 
false  life. 

But  there  was  one  who  saw  with  very  different  eyes. 

V had  been  intimate  with  Emily  some  time  before 

my  arrival,  and  every  day  saw  him  more  deeply  enamored. 

Laurie.  And  pray  where  was  the  husband  all  this 
time? 

Aglauron.     L had  sought  consolation  in  ambition. 

He  was  a  man  of  much  practical  dexterity,  but  of  little 


AGLAURON   AND    LAURIE.  205 

thought,  and  less  heart.  He  had  at  first  been  jealous  of 
Emily  for  his  honor's  sake, —  not  for  any  reality, —  for 
she  treated  him  with  great  attention  as  to  the  comforts  of 
daily  life ;  but  otherwise,  with  polite,  steady  coldness. 
Finding  that  she  received  the  court,  which  many  were  dis- 
posed to  pay  her,  with  grace  and  affability,  but  at  heart 
with  imperial  indifference,  he  ceased  to  disturb  himself; 
for,  as  she  rightly  thought,  he  was  incapable  of  under- 
standing her.  A  coquette  he  could  have  interpreted ; 
but  a  romantic  character  like  hers,  born  for  a  grand 
passion,  or  no  love  at  all,  he  could  not.    Nor  did  he  see 

that  V was  likely  to  be  more  to  her  than  any  of  her 

admirers. 

Laurie.    I  am  afraid  I  should  have  shamed  his  obtuse- 

ness.     y has  nothing  to  recommend  him  that  I  know 

of,  except  his  beauty,  and  that  is  the  beauty  of  a  petit- 
mmtre — effeminate,  without  character,  and  very  unlikely, 
I  should  judge,  to  attract  such  a  woman  as  you  give  me 
the  idea  of 

Aglauron.  You  speak  like  a  man,  Laurie  ;  but  have 
you  never  heard  tales  of  youthful  minstrels  and  pages 
being  preferred  by  princesses,  in  the  land  of  chivalry,  to 
stalwart  knights,  who  were  riding  all  over  the  land,  doing 
their  devoirs  maugre  scars  and  starvation  ?  And  why  ? 
One  want  of  a  woman's  heart  is  to  admire  and  be  pro- 
tected ;  but  another  is  to  be  understood  in  all  her  delicate 
feelings,  and  have  an  object  who  shall  know  how  to 
receive  all  the  marks  of  her  inventive  and  bour.teous  affec- 
tion.    V is  such  an  one ;  a  being  of  infinite  grace 

18 


206  MISCELLANIES. 

and  tenderness,  and  an  equal  capacity  for  prizing  the 
same  in  another. 

Effeminate,  say  you  ?  Lovely,  rather,  and  loyable. 
He  was  not,  indeed,  made  to  grow  old :  but  I  never  saw 
a  fairer  spring-time  than  shone  in  his  eye  when  life,  and 
thought,  and  love,  opened  on  him  all  together. 

He  was  to  Emily  like  the  soft  breathing  of  a  flute  in 
some  solitary  valley ;  indeed,  the  delicacy  of  his  nature 
made  a  solitude  around  him  in  the  world.  So  delicate 
was  he,  and  Emily  for  a  long  time  so  unconscious,  that 
nobody  except  myself  divined  how  strong  was  the  attrac- 
tion which,  as  it  drew  them  nearer  together,  invested  both 
with  a  lustre  and  a  sweetness  which  charmed  all  around 
them. 

But  I  see  the  sun  is  declining,  and  warns  me  to  cut 
short  a  tale  which  would  keep  us  here  till  dawn  if  I  were 
to  detail  it  as  I  should  like  to  do  in  my  own  memories. 
The  progress  of  this  affair  interested  me  deeply  ;  for,  like 
all  persons  whose  perceptions  are  more  lively  than  their 
hopes,  I  delight  to  live  from  day  to  day  in  the  more 
ardent  experiments  of  others.  I  looked  on  with  curiosity, 
with  sympathy,  with  fear.  How  could  it  end  ?  What 
w^ould  become  of  them,  unhappy  lovers  ?  One  too  noble, 
the  other  too  delicate,  ever  to  find  happiness  in  an 
unsanctioned  tie. 

I  had,  however,  no  right  to  interfere,  and  d'd  not, 
even  by  a  look,  until  one  evening,  when  the  occas  on  waa 
forced  upon  me. 

There  was  a  summer  fete  given  at  L 's.     I  had 

mingled  for  a  while  with  the  guests  in  the  brilliant  apart- 


AGLAURON   AND   LAURIE.  207 

ments ;  but  the  heat  oppressed,  the  conversation  failed  to 
interest  me.  An  open  window  tempted  me  to  the  garden, 
whose  flowers  and  tufted  lawns  lay  bathed  in  moonlight. 
I  went  out  alone ;  but  the  music  of  a  superb  band  fol- 
lowed my  steps,  and  gave  impulse  to  my  thoughts.  A 
dreaming  state,  pensive  though  not  absolutely  sorrowful, 
came  upon  me, —  one  of  those  gentle  moods  when  thoughts 
flow  through  the  mind  amber-clear  and  soft,  noiseless, 
because  unimpeded.  I  sat  down  in  an  arbor  to  enjoy  it, 
and  probably  stayed  much  longer  than  I  could  have 
imagined ;  for  when  I  reentered  the  large  saloon  it  was 
deserted.  The  lights,  however,  were  not  extinguished, 
and,  hearing  voices  in  the  inner  room,  I  supposed  some 
guests  still  remained ;  and,  as  I  had  not  spoken  with  Emily 
that  evening,  I  ventured  in  to  bid  her  good-night.     I 

started,  repentant,  on  finding  her  alone  with  Y ,  and 

in  a  situation  that  announced  their  feelings  to  be  no  longer 
concealed  from  each  other.     She,   leaning  back  on  the 

sofa,  was  weeping  bitterly,  while  V ,  seated  at  her 

feet,  holding  her  hands  within  his  own,  was  pouring  forth 
his  passionate  words  with  a  fervency  which  prevented  him 
from  perceiving  my  entrance.  But  Emily  perceived  me 
at  once,  and  starting  up,  motioned  me  not  to  go,  as  I  had 
intended.     I  obeyed,  and  sat  down.     A  pause   ensued, 

awkward  for  me  and  for  V ,  who  sat  with  his  eyes  cast 

down  and  blushing  like  a  young  girl  detected  in  a  burst 
of  feeling  long  kept  secret.  Emily  sat  buried  in  thought, 
the  tears  yet  undried  upon  her  cheeks.  She  was  pale, 
but  nobly  beautiful,  as  I  had  never  yet  seen  her. 

After  a  few  moments  I  broke  the  silence,  and  attempted 


208  MISCELLANIES. 

to  tell  why  I  had  returned  so  late.  She  interrupted  me : 
"  No  matter,  Aglauron,  how  it  happened  ;  whatever  the 

chance,  it  promises  to  give  both  V and  mjseif,  what 

we  greatly  need,  a  calm  friend  and  adviser.  You  are 
the  only  person  among  these  crowds  of  men  whom  I  could 
consult ;  for  I  have  read  friendship  in  your  eye,  and  I 

know  you  have  truth  and  honor.     V thinks  of  you 

as  I  do,  and  he  too  is,  or  should  be,  glad  to  have  some 
counsellor  beside  his  own  wishes." 

y did  not  raise  his  eyes ;  neither  did  he  contradict 

her.  After  a  moment  he  said,  "I  believe  Aglauron  to 
be  as  free  from  prejudice  as  any  man,  and  most  true  and 
honorable ;  yet  who  can  judge  in  this  matter  but  our- 
selves?" 

"No  one  shall  judge,"  said  Emily;  "but  I  want 
counsel.  God  help  me !  I  feel  there  is  a  right  and 
wrong;  but  how  can  my  mind,  which  has  never  been 
trained  to  discern  between  them,  be  confident  of  its  power 
at  this  important  moment  ?  Aglauron,  what  remains  to 
me  of  happiness, —  if  anything  do  remain ;  perhaps  the 
hope  of  heaven,  if,  indeed,  there  be  a  heaven, —  is  at 
stake  !  Father  and  brother  have  failed  their  trust.  I 
have  no  friend  able  to  understand,  wise  enough  to  coun- 
sel me.  The  only  one  whose  words  ever  came  true  to  my 
thoughts,  and  of  whom  you  have  often  reminded  me,  is 
distant.     Will  you,  this  hour,  take  her  place?  " 

"  To  the  best  of  my  ability,"  I  replied  without  hesi- 
tation, struck  by  the  dignity  of  her  manner. 

"  You  know,"  she  said,  "  all  my  past  history  ;  all  do 
so  here,  the  ugh  they  do  not  talk  loudly  of  it.     You  and 


AGLAURON   AND   LAURIE.  209 

all  others  have  probably  blamed  me.  You  know  not, 
you  cannot  guess,  the  anguish,  the  struggles  of  my  child- 
ish mind  when  it  first  opened  to  the  meaning  of  those 
words,  Love,   Marriage,   Life.     When  I  was  bound  to 

Mr.  L ,  by  a  vow  which  from  my  heedless  lips  was 

mockery  of  all  thought,  all  holiness,  I  had  never  known  a 
duty,  I  had  never  felt  the  pressure  of  a  tie.  Life  had 
been,  so  far,  a  sweet,  voluptuous  dream,  and  I  thought 
of  this  seemingly  so  kind  and  amiable  person  as  a  new 
and  devoted  ministrant  to  me  of  its  pleasures.  But  I 
was  scarcely  in  his  power  when  I  awoke.  I  perceived 
the  unfitness  of  the  tie ;  its  closeness  revolted  me. 

"  I  had  no  timidity ;  I  had  always  been  accustomed  to 

indulge  my  feelings,  and  I  displayed  them  now.  L , 

irritated,  asserted  his  mastery ;  this  drove  me  wild ;  I 
soon  hated  him,  and  despised  too  his  insensibility  to  all 
which  I  thought  most  beautiful.  From  all  his  faults, 
and  the  imperfection  of  our  relation,  grew  up  in  my 
mind  the  knowledge  of  what  the  true  might  be  to  me. 
It  is  astonishing  how  the  thought  grew  upon  me  day  by 
day.  I  had  not  been  married  more  than  three  months 
before  I  knew  what  it  would  be  to  love,  and  I  longed  to 
be  free  to  do  so.  I  had  never  known  what  it  was  to  be 
resisted,  and  the  thought  never  came  to  me  that  I  could 
now,  and  for  all  my  life,  be  bound  by  so  early  a  mis- 
take. I  thought  only  of  expressing  my  resolve  to  be 
free. 

'•  How  I  was  repulsed,  how  disappointed,  you  know, 
or  could  divine  if  you  did  not  know ;  for  all  but  me  have 
been  trained  to  bear  the  burden  from  their  youth  up, 
18^ 


210  MISCELLANIES. 

and  accustomed  to  have  the  individual  will  fettered  for 
the  advantige  of  society.  For  the  same  reason,  you  can- 
not guess  the  silent  fury  that  filled  my  mind  when  I  at 
last  found  that  I  had  struggled  in  vain,  and  that  I  must 
remain  in  the  bondage  that  I  had  ignorantly  put  on. 

"  My  affections  were  totally  alienated  from  my  family, 
for  I  felt  they  had  known  what  I  had  not,  and  had 
neither  put  me  on  my  guard,  nor  warned  me  against  pre- 
cipitation whose  consequences  must  be  fatal.  I  saw, 
indeed,  that  they  did  not  look  on  life  as  I  did,  and  could 
be  content  without  being  happy ;  but  this  observation 
was  far  from  making  me  love  them  more.  I  felt  alone, 
bitterly,  contemptuously  alone.  I  hated  men  who  had 
made  the  laws  that  bound  me.  I  did  not  believe  in  God ; 
for  why  had  He  permitted  the  dart  to  enter  so  unprepared 
a  breast  ?  I  determined  never  to  submit,  though  I  dis- 
dained to  struggle,  since  struggle  was  in  vain.  In  pass- 
ive, lonely  wretchedness  I  would  pass  my  days.  I 
would  not  feign  what  I  did  not  feel,  nor  take  the  hand 
which  had  poisoned  for  me  the  cup  of  life  before  I  had 
sipped  the  first  drops. 

"A  friend  —  the  only  one  I  have  ever  known  — 
taught  me  other  thoughts.  She  taught  me  that  others, 
perhaps  all  others,  were  victims,  as  much  as  myself 
She  taught  me  that  if  all  the  wrecked  submitted  to  be 
drowned,  the  world  would  be  a  desert.  She  taught  me 
to  pity  others,  even  those  I  myself  was  paining;  for 
she  showed  me  that  they  had  sinned  in  ignorance,  and 
that  I  had  no  right  to  make  them  suffer  so  long  as  I 


AGLAX7R0N  AND   LAURIE.  211 

myself  di  i,  merely  because  they  were  the  authors  of  my 
suffering. 

"  She  showed  me,  by  her  own  pure  example,  what 
were  Duty  and  Benevolence  and  Employment  to  the 
soul,  even  when  baffled  and  sickened  in  its  dearest 
wishes.  That  example  was  not  wholly  lost :  I  freed  my 
parents,  at  least,  from  their  pain,  and,  without  falsehood, 
became  less  cruel  and  more  calm. 

"Yet  the  kindness,  the  calmness,  have  never  gone 
deep.  I  have  been  forced  to  live  out  of  myself ;  and  life, 
busy  or  idle,  is  still  most  bitter  to  the  homeless  heart. 
I  cannot  be  like  Almeria ;  I  am  more  ardent ;  and, 
Aglauron,  you  see  now  I  might  be  happy." 

She  looked  towards  Y .     I  followed  her  eye,  and 

was  well-nigh  melted  too  by  the  beauty  of  his  gaze. 

"  The  question  in  my  mind  is,"  she  resumed,  ''  have 
I  not  a  right  to  fly  ?  To  leave  this  vacant  life,  and  a 
tie  which,  but  for  worldly  circumstances,  presses  as  heav- 
ily on  L as  on  myself     I  shall  mortify  him ;  but 

that  is  a  trifle  compared  with  actual  misery.  I  shall 
grieve  my  parents ;  but,  were  they  truly  such,  would 
they  not  grieve  still  more  that  I  must  reject  the  life  of 
mutual  love  ?  I  have  already  sacrificed  enough  ;  shall  I 
sacrifice  the  happiness  of  one  I  could  really  bless  for 
those  who  do  not  know  one  native  heart-beat  of  my 
life?" 

V kissed  her  hand. 

"  And  yet,"  said  she,  sighing,  "  it  does  not  always 
look  so.  We  must,  in  that  case,  leave  the  world  ;  it  will 
not  tolerate  us.     Can  I  make  V happy  in  solitude  ? 


212  MISCELLANIES. 

And  what  would  Almeria  think  ?  Often  it  seems  that 
she  would  feel  that  now  I  do  love,  and  could  make  a 
green  spot  in  the  desert  of  life  over  which  she  mourned, 
she  would  rejoice  to  have  me  do  so.  Then,  again, 
something  whispers  she  might  have  objections  to  make ; 
and  I  wish  —  0,  I  long  to  know  them  !  For  I  feel 
that  this  is  the  great  crisis  of  my  life,  and  that  if  I  do 
not  act  wisely,  now  that  I  have  thought  and  felt,  it  will 
be  unpardonable.  In  my  first  error  I  was  ignorant 
what  I  wished,  but  now  I  know,  and  ought  not  to  be 
weak  or  deluded." 

I  said,  "  Have  you  no  religious  scruples  ?  Do  you 
never  think  of  your  vow  as  sacred?  " 

"  Never  !  "  she  replied,  with  flashing  eyes.  "  Shall 
the  woman  be  bound  by  the  folly  of  the  child  ?     No  !  — 

I  have  never  once  considered  myself  as  L 's  wife.  If 

I  have  lived  in  his  house,  it  was  to  make  the  best  of 
what  was  left,  as  Almeria  advised.  But  what  I  feel  he 
knows  perfectly.  I  have  never  deceived  him.  But  0  ! 
I  hazard  all !  all !  and  should  I  be  again  ignorant,  again 
deceived  "  — — 

V here  poured  forth  all  that  can  be  imagined. 

I  rose  :  ''  Emily,  this  case  seems  to  me  so  extraordi- 
nary that  I  must  have  time  to  think.  You  shall  hear 
from  me.  I  shall  certainly  give  you  my  best  advice, 
and  I  trust  you  will  not  over-value  it." 

''  I  am  sure,"  she  said,  "  it  will  be  of  use  to  me,  and 

will  enable  me  to  decide  what  I  shall  do.     V ,  now 

go  away  with  Aglauron  •  it  is  too  late  for  you  to  stay 
here." 


AGLAURON   AND   LAURIE.  213 

I  do  not  know  if  I  have  made  obvious,  in  this  account, 
what  struck  me  most  in  the  interview,  —  a  certain  sav- 
age force  in  the  character  of  this  beautiful  woman,  quite 
independent  of  the  reasoning  power.  I  saw  that,  as  she 
could  give  no  account  of  the  past,  except  that  she  saw  it 
was  fit,  or  saw  it  was  not,  so  she  must  be  dealt  with 
now  by  a  strong  instalment  made  bj  another  from  his 
own  point  of  view,  which  she  would  accept  or  not,  as 
suited  her. 

There  are  some  such  characters,  which,  like  plants, 
stretch  upwards  to  the  light ;  they  accept  what  nourishes, 
they  reject  what  injures  them.  They  die  if  wounded, — 
blossom  if  fortunate ;  but  never  learn  to  analyze  all 
this,  or  find  its  reasons ;  but,  if  they  tell  their  story,  it 
is  in  Emily's  way  ;  —  ''it  was  so  ;  "   "I  found  it  so." 

I  talked  with  Y ,  and  found  him,  as  I  expected, 

not  the  peer  of  her  he  loved,  except  in  love.  His  pas- 
sion was  at  its  height.  Better  acquainted  with  the  world 
than  Emily,  —  not  because  he  had  seen  it  more,  but 
because  he  had  the  elements  of  the  citizen  in  him,  —  he 
had  been  at  first  equally  emboldened  and  surprised  by  the 
ease  with  which  he  won  her  to  listen  to  his  suit.  But 
he  was  soon  still  more  surprised  to  find  that  she  would 
only  listen.  She  had  no  regard  for  her  position  in 
society  as  a  married  woman,  —  none  for  her  vow.  She 
frankly  confessed  her  love,  so  far  as  it  went,  but  doubted 
as  to  whether  it  was  her  whole  love^  and  doubted  still 

more  her  right  to  leave  L ,  since  she  had  returned 

to  him,  and  could  not  break  the  bond  so  entirely  as  to 
give  them  firm  foot-hold  in  the  world. 


214  MISCELLANIES. 

"  I  may  make  you  unhappy,"  she  said,  "  and  then  be 
unhappy  myself;  these  laws,  this  society,  are  so  strange, 
I  can  make  nothing  of  them.  In  music  I  am  at  home. 
Why  is  not  all  life  music  ?  We  instantly  know  when 
we  are  going  wrong  there.  Convince  me  it  is  for  the 
best,  and  I  will  go  with  you  at  once.  But  now  it  seems 
wrong,  unwise,  scarcely  better  than  to  stay  as  we  are. 
We  must  go  secretly,  must  live  obscurely  in  a  corner. 
That  I  cannot  bear,  —  all  is  wrong  yet.  Why  am  I  not 
at  liberty  to  declare  unblushingly  to  all  men  that  I  will 
leave  the  man  whom  I  do  not  love,  and  go  with  him  I 
do  love?  That  is  the  only  way  that  would  suit  me, — I 
cannot  see  clearly  to  take  any  other  course." 

I  found  y had  no  scruples  of  conscience,  any 

more  than  herself  He  was  wholly  absorbed  in  his  pas- 
sion, and  his  only  wish  was  to  persuade  her  to  elope,  that 
a  divorce  might  follow,  and  she  be  all  his  own. 

I  took  my  part.  I  wrote  next  day  to  Emily.  I  told 
her  that  my  view  must  differ  from  hers  in  this :  that  I 
had,  from  early  impressions,  a  feeling  of  the  sanctity  of 
the  marriage  vow.  It  was  not  to  me  a  measure  intended 
merely  to  insure  the  happiness  of  two  individuals,  but 
a  solemn  obligation,  which,  whether  it  led  to  happiness 
or  not,  was  a  means  of  bringing  home  to  the  mind 
the  great  idea  of  Duty,  the  understanding  of  which,  and 
not  happiness,  seemed  to  be  the  end  of  life.  Life  looked 
not  clear  to  me  otherwise.     I  entreated  her  to  separate 

herself  from  V for  a  year,  before  doing  anything 

decisive ;  she  could  then  look  at  the  subject  from  other 
points  of  view,  and  see  the  bearing  on  mankind  as  well 


AGLAUEON  AND  LAURIE.  215 

as  on  herself  alone.     If  she  still  found  that  happiness 

and  y were  her  chief  objects,  she  might  be  more 

sure  of  herself  after  such  a  trial.  I  was  careful  not  to 
add  one  word  of  persuasion  or  exhortation,  except  that  I 
recommended  her  to  the  enlightening  love  of  the  Father 
of  our  spirits. 

Laurie.  With  or  without  persuasion,  your  advice  had 
small  chance,  I  fear,  of  being  followed. 

Aglaiiron.  You  err.  Next  day  V — —  departed. 
Emily,  with  a  calm  brow  and  earnest  eyes,  devoted  her- 
self to  thought,  and  such  reading  as  I  suggested. 

Laurie.    And  the  result  ? 

Aglauron.  I  grieve  not  to  be  able  to  point  my  tale 
with   the   expected   moral,    though    perhaps    the    true 

denouement  may  lead  to  one  as  valuable.     L died 

within  the  year,  and  she  married  Y . 

Laurie.    And  the  result  ? 

Aglauron.  Is  for  the  present  utter  disappointment  in 
him.  She  was  infinitely  blest,  for  a  time,  in  his  devo- 
tion, but  presently  her  strong  nature  found  him  too 
much  hers,  and  too  little  his  own.     He  satisfied  her  as 

little  as  L had  done,  though  always  lovely  and  dear. 

She  saw  with  keen  anguish,  though  this  time  without 
bitterness,  that  we  are  never  wise  enough  to  be  sure  any 
measure  will  fulfil  our  expectations. 

But  —  I  know  not  how  it  is — Emily  does  not  yet  com- 
mand the  changes  of  destiny  which  she  feels  so  keenly 
and  faces  so  boldly.  Born  to  be  happy  only  in  the  clear 
light  of  religious  thought,  she  still  seeks  happiness  else- 
where.    She  is  now  a  mother,  and  all  other  thoughts 


216  MISCELLANIES. 

are  merged  in  that.  But  she  will  not  long  be  permitted 
to  abide  there.  One  more  pang,  and  I  look  to  see  her  find 
her  central  point,  from  which  all  the  paths  she  has  taken 
lead.  She  loves  truth  so  ardently,  though  as  yet  only 
in  detail,  that  she  will  yet  know  truth  as  a  whole.     She 

will  see  that  she  does  not  live  for  Emily,  or  for  V , 

or  for  her  child,  but  as  one  link  in  a  divine  purpose. 
Her  large  nature  must  at  last  serve  knowingly. 

Myself.  I  cannot  understand  you,  Aglauron ;  I  do 
not  guess  the  scope  of  your  story,  nor  sympathize  with 
your  feeling  about  this  lady.  She  is  a  strange,  and,  I 
think,  very  unattractive  person.  I  think  her  beauty 
must  have  fascinated  you.  Her  character  seems  very 
inconsistent. 

Aglauron.    Because  I  have  drawn  from  life. 

Myself.  But,  surely,  there  should  be  a  harmony 
somewhere. 

Aglauron.    Could  we  but  get  the  right  point  of  view. 

Laurie.    And  where  is  that  ? 

He  pointed  to  the  sun,  just  sinking  behind  the  pine- 
grove.  We  mounted  and  rode  home  without  a  word 
more.  But  I  do  not  understand  Aglauron  yet,  nor  what 
he  expects  from  this  Emily.  Yet  her  character,  though 
almost  featureless  at  first,  gains  distinctness  as  I  think 
of  it  more.     Perhaps  in  this  life  I  shall  find  its  key. 


THE  WRONGS  OF  AMERICAN  WOMEN.    THE 
DUTY  OF   AMERICAN   WOMEN. 

The  same  day  brought  us  a  copy  of  Mr.  Burdett's 
little  book,  —  in  which  the  sufferings  and  difficulties  that 
beset  the  large  class  of  women  who  must  earn  their 
subsistence  in  a  city  like  New  York,  are  delineated  with 
BO  much  simplicity,  feeling,  and  exact  adherence  to  the 
facts,  —  and  a  printed  circular,  containing  proposals  for 
immediate  practical  adoption  of  the  plan  more  fully 
described  in  a  book  published  some  weeks  since,  under 
the  title,  "  The  Duty  of  American  Women  to  their  Coun- 
try," which  was  ascribed  alternately  to  Mrs.  Stowe  and 
Miss  Catharine  Beecher.  The  two  matters  seemed 
linked  to  one  another  by  natural  parity.  Full  acquaint- 
ance with  the  wrong  must  call  forth  all  manner  of 
inventions  for  its  redress. 

The  circular,  in  showing  the  vast  want  that  already 
exists  of  good  means  for  instructing  the  children  of  this 
nation,  especially  in  the  West,  states  also  the  belief  that 
among  women,  as  being  less  immersed  in  other  cares  and 
toils,  from  the  preparation  it  gives  for  their  task  as 
mothers,  and  from  the  necessity  in  which  a  great  propor- 
tion stand  of  earning  a  subsistence  somehow,  at  least 
during  the  years  which  precede  marriage,  if  they  do 
19 


218  MISCELLANIES. 

marry,  must  the  number  of  teachers  wanted  be  found, 
TFhich  is  estimated  already  at  sixty  thousand. 

We  cordially  sympathize  with  these  views. 

Much  has  been  written  about  woman's  keeping  within 
her  sphere,  which  js  defined  as  the  domestic  sphere.  As 
a  little  girl  she  is  to  learn  the  lighter  family  duties, 
while  she  acquires  that  limited  acquaintance  with  the 
realm  of  literature  and  science  that  will  enable  her  tc 
superintend  the  instruction  of  children  in  their  earliest 
years.  It  is  not  generally  proposed  that  she  should  be 
sufficiently  instructed  and  developed  to  understand  the 
pursuits  or  aims  of  her  future  husband ;  she  is  not  to  be 
a  help-meet  to  him  in  the  way  of  companionship  and 
counsel,  except  in  the  care  of  his  house  and  children. 
Her  youth  is  to  be  passed  partly  in  learning  to  keep 
house  and  the  use  of  the  needle,  partly  in  the  social 
circle,  where  her  manners  may  be  formed,  ornamental 
accomplishments  perfected  and  displayed,  and  the  hus- 
band found  who  shall  give  her  the  domestic  sphere  for 
which  she  is  exclusively  to  be  prepared. 

Were  the  destiny  of  Woman  thus  exactly  marked  out ; 
did  she  invariably  retain  the  shelter  of  a  parent's  or 
guardian's  roof  till  she  married ;  did  marriage  give  her  a 
sure  home  and  protector ;  were  she  never  liable  to  remain 
a  widow,  or,  if  so,  sure  of  finding  immediate  protection 
from  a  brother  or  new  husband,  so  that  she  might  never 
be  forced  to  stand  alone  one  moment ;  and  were  her  mind 
givQQ  for  this  world  only,  with  no  faculties  capable  of 
eternal  growth  and  infinite  improvement ;  we  would  still 
demand  for  her  a  far  wider  and  more  generous  culture, 


AMERICAN   WOMEN.  219 

than  is  proposed  by  those  who  so  anxiously  define  her 
sphere.  We  would  demand  it  that  she  might  not  igno- 
rantly  or  frivolously  thwart  the  designs  of  her  husband  ; 
that  she  might  be  the  respected  friend  of  her  sons,  not 
less  than  of  her  daughters  ;  that  she  might  give  more 
refinement,  elevation  and  attraction,  to  the  society  which 
is  needed  to  give  the  characters  of  rtieu  polish  and  plas- 
ticity,—  no  less  so  than  to  save  them  from  vicious  and 
sensual  habits.  But  the  most  fastidious  critic  on  the 
departure  of  Woman  from  her  sphere  can  scarcely  fail  to 
see,  at  present,  that  a  vast  proportion  of  the  sex,  if  not 
the  better  half,  do  not,  cannot  have  this  domestic  sphere. 
Thousands  and  scores  of  thousands  in  this  country,  no  less 
than  in  Europe,  are  obliged  to  maintain  themselves  alone. 
Far  greater  numbers  divide  with  their  husbands  the  care 
of  earning  a  support  for  the  family.  In  England,  now, 
the  progress  of  society  has  reached  so  admirable  a  pitch, 
that  the  position  of  the  sexes  is  frequently  reversed,  and 
the  husband  is  obliged  to  stay  at  home  and  ''  mind  the 
house  and  bairns,"  while  the  wife  goes  forth  to  the  em- 
ployment she  alone  can  secure. 

We  readily  admit  that  the  picture  of  this  is  most  pain- 
ful ; —  that  Nature  made  an  entirely  opposite  distribution 
of  functions  between  the  sexes.  We  believe  the  natural 
order  to  be  the  best,  and  that,  if  it  could  be  followed  in 
an  enlightened  spirit,  it  would  bring  to  Woman  all  she 
wants,  no  less  for  her  immortal  than  her  mortal  destiny. 
We  are  not  surprised  that  men  who  do  not  look  deeply 
and  carefully  at  causes  and  tendencies,  should  be  led,  by 
disgust   at   the  hardened,  hackneyed   characters   which 


220  MISCELLANIES. 

the  present  stato  of  things  too  often  produces  in  women, 
to  such  conclusions  as  they  are.  We,  no  more  than 
thej,  delight  in  the  picture  of  the  poor  woman  digging 
in  the  mines  in  her  husband's  clothes.  We,  no  more 
than  they,  delight  to  hear  their  voices  shrilly  raised  in 
the  market-place,  whether  of  apples,  or  of  celebrity. 
But  we  see  that  at  present  they  must  do  as  they  do  for 
bread.  Hundreds  and  thousands  must  step  out  of  that 
hallowed  domestic  sphere,  with  no  choice  but  to  work  or 
steal,  or  belong  to  men,  not  as  wives,  but  as  the  wretched 
slaves  of  sensuality. 

And  this  transition  state,  with  all  its  revolting  features, 
indicates,  we  do  believe,  an  approach  of  a  nobler  era  than 
the  world  has  yet  known.  We  trust  that  by  the  stress 
and  emergencies  of  the  present  and  coming  time  the  minds 
of  women  will  be  formed  to  more  reflection  and  higher 
purposes  than  heretofore ;  their  latent  powers  developed, 
their  characters  strengthened  and  eventually  beautified 
and  harmonized.  Should  the  state  of  society  then  be 
such  that  each  may  remain,  as  Nature  seems  to  have  in- 
tended, Woman  the  tutelary  genius  of  home,  while  Man 
manages  the  out-door  business  of  life,  both  may  be  done 
with  a  "wisdom,  a  mutual  understanding  and  respect,  un- 
known at  present.  Men  will  be  no  less  gainers  by  this 
than  women,  finding  in  pure  and  more  religious  marriages 
the  joys  of  friendship  and  love  combined,  —  in  their 
mothers  and  daughters  better  instruction,  sweeter  and 
nobler  companionship,  and  in  society  at  large,  an  excite- 
ment to  their  finer  powers  and  feelings  unknown  at 
present,  except  in  the  region  of  the  fine  arts. 


AMERICAN   WOMEN.  221 

Blest  be  the  generous,  the  wise,  who  seek  to  forward 
hopes  like  these,  instead  of  struggling,  against  the  fiat  of 
Providence  and  the  march  of  Fate,  to  bind  down  rushing 
life  to  the  standard  of  the  past !  Such  efibrts  are  vain, 
but  those  who  make  them  are  unhappy  and  unwise. 

It  is  not,  however,  to  such  that  we  address  ourselves, 
but  to  those  who  seek  to  make  the  best  of  things  as  they 
are,  while  they  also  strive  to  make  them  better.  Such 
persons  will  have  seen  enough  of  the  state  of  things  in 
London,  Paris,  New  York,  and  manufacturing  regions 
everywhere,  to  feel  that  there  is  an  imperative  necessity 
for  opening  more  avenues  of  employment  to  women,  and 
fitting  them  better  to  enter  them,  rather  than  keeping 
them  back. 

Women  have  invaded  many  of  the  trades  and  some  of 
the  professions.  Sewing,  to  the  present  killing  extent, 
they  cannot  long  bear.  Factories  seem  likely  to  afibrd 
them  permanent  employment.  In  the  culture  of  fruit, 
flowers,  and  vegetables,  even  in  the  sale  of  them,  we  re- 
joice to  see  them  engaged.  In  domestic  service  they  will 
be  aided,  but  can  never  be  supplanted,  by  machinery. 
As  much  room  as  there  is  here  for  Woman's  mind  and 
Woman's  labor,  will  always  be  filled.  A  few  have  usurped 
the  martial  province,  but  these  must  always  be  few  ;  the 
nature  of  Woman  is  opposed  to  war.  It  is  natural  enough 
to  see  "female  physicians,"  and  we  believe  that  the  lace 
HJap  and  work-bag  are  as  muchat  home  here  as  the  wig 
and  gold-headed  cane.  In  the  priesthood,  they  have, 
from  all  time,  shared  more  or  less  —  in  many  eras  more 
than  at  the  present.  We  believe  there  has  been  no 
19* 


222  MISCELLANIES. 

female  lawyer,  and  probably  will  be  none.  The  pen, 
many  of  the  fine  arts,  they  have  made  their  own ;  and  in 
the  more  refined  countries  of  the  world,  as  writers,  as 
musicians,  as  painters,  as  actors,  women  occupy  as  advan- 
tageous ground  as  men.  Writing  and  music  may  be 
esteemed  professions  for  them  more  than  any  other. 

But  there  are  two  others  —  where  the  demand  must 
invariably  be  immense,  and  for  which  they  are  naturally 
better  fitted  than  men  —  for  which  we  should  like  to  see 
them  better  prepared  and  better  rewarded  than  they  are. 
These  are  the  professions  of  nurse  to  the  sickj^  and  of  the 
teacher.  The  first  of  these  professions  we  have  warmly 
desired  to  see  dignified.  It  is  a  noble  one,  now  most 
unjustly  regarded  in  the  light  of  menial  service.  It  is 
one  which  no  menial,  no  servile  nature  can  fitly  occupy. 
We  were  rejoiced  when  an  intelligent  lady  of  Massachu- 
setts made  the  refined  heroine  of  a  little  romance  select 
this  calling.  This  lady  (Mrs.  George  Lee)  has  looked 
on  society  with  unusual  largeness  of  spirit  and  healthiness 
of  temper.  She  is  well  acquainted  Avith  the  world  of 
conventions,  but  sees  beneath  it  the  world  of  nature.  She 
is  a  generous  writer,  and  unpretending  as  the  generous 
are  wont  to  be.  We  do  not  recall  the  name  of  the  tale, 
but  the  circumstance  above  mentioned  marks  its  temper. 
We  hope  to  see  the  time  when  the  refined  and  cultivated 
will  choose  this  profession,  and  learn  it,  not  only  through 
experience  and  under  the  direction  of  the  doctor,  but  by 
acquainting  themselves  with  the  laws  of  matter  and  of 
mind,  so  that  all  they  do  shall  be  intelligently  done,  and 
afford  them  the  means  of  developing  intelligence,  as  well 


AMEKICAN   WOMEN.  223 

as  the  nobler,  tenderer  feelings  of  humanity ;  for  even 
this  last  part  of  the  benefit  they  cannot  receive  if  their 
work  be  done  in  a  selfish  or  mercenary  spirit. 

The  other  profession  is  that  of  teacher,  for  which  wo- 
men are  peculiarly  adapted  by  their  nature,  superiority 
in  tact,  quickness  of  sympathy,  gentleness,  patience,  and 
a  clear  and  animated  manner  in  narration  or  description. 
To  form  a  good  teacher,  should  be  added  to  this,  sincere 
modesty  combined  with  firmness,  liberal  views,  with  a 
power  and  will  to  liberalize  them  still  further,  a  good 
method,  and  habits  of  exact  and  thorough  investigation. 
In  the  two  last  requisites  women  are  generally  deficient, 
but  there  are  now  many  shining  examples  to  prove  that 
if  they  are  immethodical  and  superficial  as  teachers,  it  is 
because  it  is  the  custom  so  to  teach  them,  and  that  when 
aware  of  these  faults,  they  can  and  will  correct  them. 

The  profession  is  of  itself  an  excellent  one  for  the  im- 
provement of  the  teacher  during  that  interim  between 
youth  and  maturity  when  the  mind  needs  testing,  temper- 
ing, and  to  review  and  rearrange  the  knowledge  it  has 
acquired.  The  natural  method  of  doing  this  for  one's  self, 
is  to  attempt  teaching  others ;  those  years  also  are  the 
best  of  the  practical  teacher.  The  teacher  should  be  near 
the  pupil,  both  in  years  and  feelings  ;  no  oracle,  but  the 
eldest  brother  or  sister  of  the  pupil.  More  experience 
and  years  form  the  lecturer  and  director  of  studies,  but 
injure  the  powers  as  to  familiar  teaching. 

These  are  just  the  years  of  leisure  in  the  lives  even  of 
those  wom'^n  who  are  to  enter  the  domestic  sphere,  and 


224  MISCELLANIES. 

this  calling  most  of  all  compatible  with  a  constant  prog- 
ress as  to  qualifications  for  that. 

Viewing  the  matter  thus,  it  may  well  be  seen  that  we 
should  hail  with  joj  the  assurance  that  sixty  thousand 
female  teachers  are  wanted,  and  more  likely  to  be,  and 
that  a  plan  is  projected  which  looks  wise,  liberal  and 
generous,  to  afford  the  means,  to  those  whose  hearts 
answer  to  this  high  calling,  of  obeying  their  dictates. 

The  plan  is  to  have  Cincinnati  as  a  central  point, 
where  teachers  shall  be  for  a  short  time  received,  exam- 
ined, and  prepared  for  their  duties.  By  mutual  agree- 
ment and  cooperation  of  the  various  sects,  funds  are  to  be 
raised,  and  teachers  provided,  according  to  the  wants  and 
tendencies  of  the  various  locations  now  destitute.  What 
is  to  be  done  for  them  centrally,  is  for  suitable  persons  to 
examine  into  the  various  kinds  of  fitness,  communicate 
some  general  views  whose  value  has  been  tested,  and 
counsel  adapted  to  the  difficulties  and  advantages  of  their 
new  positions.  The  central  committee  are  to  have  the 
charge  of  raising  funds,  and  finding  teachers,  and  places 
where  teachers  are  wanted. 

The  passage  of  thoughts,  teachers  and  funds,  will  be 
from  East  to  West  —  the  course  of  sunlight  upon  this 
earth. 

The  plan  is  offered  as  the  most  extensive  and  pliant 
means  of  doing  a  good  and  preventing  ill  to  this  nation, 
by  means  of  a  national  education,  whose  normal  school 
shall  have  an  invariable  object  in  the  search  after  truth, 
and  the  diffusion  of  the  means  of  knowledge,  while  its 
form  shall  be  plastic  according  to  the  wants  of  the  time. 


AMERICAN   WOMEN.  225 

This  normal  ajhool  promises  to  have  good  effects,  for 
it  proposes  worthy  aims  through  simple  means,  and  the 
motive  for  its  formation  and  support  seems  to  be  disin- 
terested philanthropy. 

It  promises  to  eschew  the  bitter  spirit  of  sectarianism 
and  proselytism,  else  we,  for  one  party,  could  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  Men,  no  doubt,  have  oftentimes 
been  kept  from  absolute  famine  by  the  wheat  with  which 
such  tares  are  mingled ;  but  we  believe  the  time  is  come 
when  a  purer  and  more  generous  food  is  to  be  offered  to 
the  people  at  large.  We  believe  the  aim  of  all  education 
to  be  to  rouse  the  mind  to  action,  show  it  the  means  of 
discipline  and  of  information ;  then  leave  it  free,  with 
God,  Conscience,  and  the  love  of  Truth,  for  its  guardians 
and  teachers.  Woe  be  to  those  who  sacrifice  these  aims 
of  universal  and  eternal  value  to  the  propagation  of  a  set 
of  opinions  !  We  can  accept  such  doctrine  as  is  offered 
by  Rev.  Calvin  E.  Stowe,  one  of  the  committee,  in  the 
following  passage  : 

''In  judicious  practice,  I  am  persuaded  there  will 
seldom  be  any  very  great  difficulty,  especially  if  there  be 
excited  in  the  community  anything  like  a  whole-hearted 
and  enlightened  sincerity  in  the  cause  of  public  instruc- 
tion. 

"  It  is  all  right  for  people  to  suit  their  own  taste  and 
convictions  in  respect  to  sect ;  and  by  fair  means,  and  at 
proper  times,  to  teach  their  children  and  those  under 
their  influence  to  prefer  the  denominations  which  they 
prefer  ;  but  further  than  this  no  one  has  any  right  to  go. 
It  is  all  wrong  to  hazard  the  well-being  of  the  soul,  to 


226  MISCELLANIES. 

jeopardize  great  public  interests  for  the  sake  of  advancing 
the  interests  of  a  sect.  People  must  learn  to  practise 
some  self-denial,  on  Christian  principles,  in  respect  to 
their  denominational  prejudices  as  well  as  in  respect  to 
other  things,  before  pure  religion  can  ever  gain  a  com- 
plete victory  over  every  form  of  human  selfishness." 

The  persons  who  propose  themselves  to  the  examina- 
tion and  instruction  of  the  teachers  at  Cincinnati,  till  the 
plan  shall  be  sufficiently  under  way  to  provide  regu- 
larly for  the  office,  are  Mrs.  Stowe  and  Miss  Catharine 
Beecher,  ladies  well  known  to  fame,  as  possessing  unu- 
sual qualifications  for  the  task. 

As  to  finding  abundance  of  teachers,  who  that  reads 
this  little  book  of  Mr.  Burdett's,  or  the  account  of  the 
compensation  of  female  labor  in  New  York,  and  the 
hopeless,  comfortless,  useless,  pernicious  lives  of  those 
who  have  even  the  advantage  of  getting  work  must  lead, 
with  the  sufferings  and  almost  inevitable  degradation  to 
which  those  who  cannot  are  exposed,  but  must  long  to 
snatch  such  as  are  capable  of  this  better  profession  (and 
among  the  multitude  there  must  be  many  who  are  or  could 
be  made  so)  from  their  present  toils,  and  make  them 
free,  and  the  means  of  freedom  and  growth  in  others  ? 

To  many  books  on  such  subjects — among  others  to 
''Woman  in  the  Nineteenth  Century  " — the  objection 
has  been  made,  that  they  exhibit  ills  without  specifying 
any  practical  means  for  their  remedy.  The  writer  of  the 
last-named  essay  does  indeed  think  that  it  contains  one 
great  rule  which,  if  laid  to  heart,  would  prove  a  practi- 
cal remedy  for  many  ills,  and  of  such  daily  and  hourly 


AMERICAN   WOMEN.  227 

efficacy  in  the  conduct  of  life,  that  any  extensive  observ- 
ance of  it  for  a  single  year  would  perceptibly  raise  the 
tone  of  thought,  feeling  and  conduct,  throughout  the  civ- 
ilized world.  But  to  those  who  ask  not  only  such  a  prin- 
ciple, but  an  external  method  for  immediate  use,  we  say 
that  here  is  one  proposed  which  looks  noble  and  promis- 
ing; the  proposers  offer  themselves  to  the  work"  with 
heart  and  hand,  with  time  and  purse.  Go  ye  and"  do 
likewise. 


2* 


GEORGE  SAND. 

When  I  first  knew  George  Sand,  I  thought  to  have 
found  tried  the  experiment  I  wanted.  I  did  not  value 
Bettine  so  much.  She  had  not  pride  enough  for  me. 
Only  now,  when  I  am  sure  of  myself,  can  I  pour  out  my 
soul  at  the  feet  of  another.  In  the  assured  soul  it  is 
kingly  prodigality;  in  one  which  cannot  forbear  it  is 
mere  babyhood.  I  love  '' abandon"  only  when  natures 
are  capable  of  the  extreme  reverse.  I  knew  Bettine 
w^ould  end  in  nothing ;  when  I  read  her  book  I  knew 
she  could  not  outlive  her  love. 

But  in  '■^ Les  Sept  Cordes  de  la  Lyre^''  which  I  read 
first,  I  saw  the  knowledge  of  the  passions  and  of  social 
institutions,  with  the  celestial  choice  which  rose  above 
them.  I  loved  Helene,  w^ho  could  hear  so  well  the 
terrene  voices,  yet  keep  her  eye  fixed  on  the  stars.  That 
would  be  my  wish  also.  — to  know  all,  and  then  choose. 
I  even  revered  her,  for  I  was  not  sure  that  I  could  have 
resisted  the  call  of  the  now  ;  could  have  left  the  spirit 
and  gone  to  God ;  and  at  a  more  ambitious  age  I  could 
not  have  refused  the  philosopher.  But  I  hoped  much 
from  her  steadfastness,  and  I  thought  I  heard  the  last 
tones  of  a  purified  life.  Gretchen,  in  the  golden  cloud, 
is  raised  above  all  past  delusions,  worthy  to  redeem  and 


GEORGE   SAND.  229 

upbear  the  wise  man  who  stumbled  into  the  pit  of  error 
while  searching  for  truth. 

Still,  in  •'  Andre  "  and  "  Jacques,"  I  trace  the  same 
high  morality  of  one  who  had  tried  the  liberty  of  circum- 
stance only  to  learn  to  appreciate  the  liberty  of  law  ;  — 
to  know  that  license  is  the  foe  of  freedom  ;  and,  though 
the  sophistry  of  Passion  in  these  books  disgusted  me, 
flowers  of  purest  hue  seemed  to  grow  upon  the  dark  and 
dirty  ground.  I  thought  she  had  cast  aside  the  slough 
of  her  past  life,  and  begun  a  new  existence  beneath  the 
sun  of  a  new  ideal. 

But  here,  in  the  "  Lettres  dun  Voyageur^^^  what  do 
I  see  ?  An  unfortunate,  wailing  her  loneliness,  wailing 
her  mistakes,  writing  for  money  !  She  has  genius,  and 
a  manly  grasp  of  mind,  but  not  a  manly  heart.  Will 
there  never  be  a  being  to  combine  a  man's  mind  and  a 
woman's  heart,  and  who  yet  finds  life  too  rich  to  weep 
over  ?     Never  ? 

When  I  read  in  "  Leon  Leoni  "  the  account  of  the 
jeweller's  daughter's  life  with  her  mother,  passed  in 
dressing,   and  learning  to  be  looked  at  when  dressed, 

^^avec  un  front  impassible^''''  it  reminded  me  of and 

her  mother.  What  a  heroine  she  would  be  for  Sand ! 
She  has  the  same  fearless  softness  with  Juliet,  and  a 
sportive  na'iveti^  a  mixture  of  bird  and  kitten,  unknown 
to  the  dupe  of  Leoni. 

If  I  were  a  man,  and  washed  a  wife,  as  many  do, 

merely  as  an  ornament,  a  silken  toy,  I  would  take 

as  soon  as  any  I  know.  Her  fantastic,  impassioned  and 
mutable  nature  would  yield  an  inexhaustible  amusement. 
20 


230  MISCELLANIES. 

She  is  capable  of  the  most  romantic  actions,  —  wild  as  the 
falcon,  voluptuous  as  the  tuberose  ;  jet  she  has  not  in 
her  the  elements  of  romance,  like  a  deeper  or  less  suscep- 
tible nature.     My  cold  and  reasoning ,  with  her  one 

love  lying,  perhaps  never  to  be  unfolded,  beneath  such 
sheaths  of  pride  and  reserve,  would  make  a  far  better 
heroine. 

and  her  mother   diifer   from   Juliet   and   her 

mother  by  the  impulse  a  single  strong  character  gave 
them.  Even  at  this  distance  of  time  there  is  a  light 
but  perceptible  taste  of  iron  in  the  water. 

George  Sand  disappoints  me,  as  almost  all  beings  do, 
especially  since  I  have  been  brought  close  to  her  person 
by  the  "  Lettres  d'un  YoyageurP  Her  remarks  on 
Lavater  seem  really  shallow,  a  la  mode  du  genre  feni- 
inin.  No  self-ruling  Aspasia  she,  but  a  frail  woman^ 
mourning  over  her  lot.  Any  peculiarity  in  her  destiny 
seems  accidental ;  she  is  forced  to  this  and  to  that  to  earn 
her  bread,  forsooth ! 

Yet  her  style  —  with  what  a  deeply  smouldering  fire 
it  burns  !    Not  vehement,  but  intense,  like  Jean  Jacques. 


FROM  A  NOTICE  OF  GEORGE  SAND. 


It  is  probably  known  to  a  great  proportion  of  readers 
that  this  writer  is  a  woman,  who  writes  under  the  name, 
and  frequently  assumes  the  dress  and  manners,  of  a 
man.  It  is  also  known  that  she  has  not  only  broken 
the  marriage-bond,  and,  since  that,  formed  other  connec- 
tions, independent  of  the  civil  and  ecclesiastical  sanction, 
but  that  she  first  rose  into  notice  through  works  which 
systematically  assailed  the  present  institution  of  mar- 
riage, and  the  social  bonds  which  are  connected  with  it. 

No  facts  are  more  adapted  to  startle  every  feeling  of 
our  community :  but,  since  the  works  of  Sand  are  read 
here,  notwithstanding,  and  cannot  fail  to  be  so  while 
they  exert  so  important  an  influence  abroad,  it  would  be 
well  they  should  be  read  intelligently,  as  to  the  circum- 
stances of  their  birth  and  their  tendency. 

George  Sand  we  esteem  to  be  a  person  of  strong  pas- 
sions, but  of  original  nobleness  and  a  love  of  right  sufii- 
cient  to  guide  them  all  to  the  service  of  worthy  aims.  But 
she  fell  upon  evil  times.  She  was  given  in  marriage,  ac- 
cording to  the  fashion  of  the  old  regime  ;  she  was  taken 
from  a  convent,  where  she  had  heard  a  great  deal  about  the 
law  of  God  and  the  example  of  Jesus,  into  a  society 
where  no  vice  was  proscribed,  if  it  would  only  wear  the 


232  MISCELLANIES. 

cl  >ak  of  hypocrisy.  She  found  herself  impatient  of  decep- 
tion, and  loudly  appealed  to  by  passion ;  she  yielded,  but 
she  could  not  do  so,  as  others  did,  sinning  against  T^hat 
she  owned  to  be  the  rule  of  right  and  the  will  of  Heaven. 
She  protested,  she  examined,  she  "  hacked  into  the  roots 
of  things,"  and  the  bold  sound  of  her  axe  called  around  her 
every  foe  that  finds  a  home  amid  the  growths  of  civiliza- 
tion. Still  she  persisted.  ''  If  it  be  real,"  thought  she, 
'•  it  cannot  be  destroyed  ;  as  to  what  is  false,  the  sooner 
it  goes  the  better ;  and  I,  for  one,  would  rather  perish 
by  its  fall,  than  wither  in  its  shade." 

Schiller  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Mary  Stua;rt  these 
words,  as  her  only  plea  :  "  The  world  knows  the  worst 
of  me,  and  I  may  boast  that,  though  I  have  erred,  I  am 
better  than  my  reputation."  Sand  may  say  the  same. 
All  is  open,  noble ;  the  free  descriptions,  the  soph- 
istry of  passion,  are,  at  least,  redeemed  by  a  desire  for 
truth  as  strong  as  ever  beat  in  any  heart.  To  the  weak 
or  unthinking,  the  reading  of  such  books  may  not  be 
desirable,  for  only  those  who  take  exercise  as  men  can 
digest  strong  meat.  But  to  any  one  able  to  understand 
the  position  and  circumstances,  we  believe  this  reading 
cannot  fail  of  bringing  good  impulses,  valuable  sugges- 
tions ;  and  it  is  quite  free  from  that  subtle  miasma  which 
taints  so  large  a  portion  of  French  literature,  not  less 
since  the  Revolution  than  before.  This  we  say  to  the 
foreign  reader.  To  her  own  country,  Sand  is  a  boon 
precious  and  prized,  both  as  a  warning  and  a  leader,  for 
which  none  there  can  be  ungrateful.  She  has  dared  to 
probe  its  festering  wounds ;  and  if  they  be  not  past  all 


GEORGE   SAND.  233 

surgery,  she  is  one  who,  most  of  any,  helps  towards  a 
cure. 

Would,  indeed,  the  surgeon  had  come  with  quite 
clean  hands  '  A  woman  of  Sand's  genius — as  free,  as 
bold,  and  pure  from  even  the  suspicion  of  error — might 
have  filled  an  apostolic  station  among  her  people.  The7i 
with  what  force  had  come  her  cry,  "  If  it  be  false,  give  it 
up  ;  but  if  it  be  true,  keep  to  it,  —  one  or  the  other  !  " 

But  we  have  read  all  we  wish  to  say  upon  this  subject 
lately  uttered  just  from  the  quarter  we  could  wish.  It 
is  such  a  woman,  so  unblemished  in  character,  so  high  in 
aim,  so  pure  in  soul,  that  should  address  this  other,  as 
noble  in  nature,  but  clouded  by  error,  and  struggling 
with  circumstances.  It  is  such  women  that  will  do  such 
others  justice.  They  are  not  afraid  to  look  for  virtue, 
and  reply  to  aspiration,  among  those  who  have  not  dwelt 
"  in  decencies  forever."  It  is  a  source  of  pride  and  hap- 
piness to  read  this  address  from  the  heart  of  Elizabeth 
Barrett :  — 

TO  GEORGE  SAND. 

A   DESIRE. 

Thou  large-brained  woman  and  large-hearted  man, 
Self-called  George  Sand  !  whose  soul  amid  the  lions 
Of  thy  tumultuous  senses  moans  defiance, 
And  answers  roar  for  roar,  as  spirits  can,  — 
I  would  some  wild,  miraculous  thunder  ran 
Above  the  applauding  circus,  in  appliance 
Of  thine  own  nobler  nature's  strength  and  science. 
Drawing  two  pinions,  white  as  wings  of  swan. 
From  the  strong  shoulders,  to  amaze  the  place 
With  holier  light  !     That  thou,  to  woman's  claim^ 

20* 


234  MISCELLANIES. 

And  man's,  might  join,  beside,  the  angel's  grace 
Of  a  pure  genius,  sanctified  from  blame. 

Till  child  and  maiden  pressed  to  thine  embrace, 
To  kiss  upon  thy  lips  a  stainless  fame  ! 


TO  THE  SAME. 
A   RECOGNITION. 

True  genius,  but  true  woman  !  dost  deny 

Thy  woman's  nature  with  a  manly  scorn, 

And  break  away  the  gauds  and  armlets  worn 
By  weaker  woman  in  captivity  ? 
Ah,  vain  denial  !  that  revolted  cry 
Is  sobbed  in  by  a  woman's  voice  forlorn  :  — 
Thy  woman's  hair,  my  sister  !  all  unshorn, 

Floats  back  dishevelled  strength  in  agony. 
Disproving  thy  man's  name  ;  and  while  before 

The  world  thou  burnest  in  a  poet-fire. 
We  see  thy  woman-heart  beat  evermore 

Through  the  large  flame.     Beat  purer,  heart !  and  higher, 
Till  God  unsex  thee  on  the  spirit-shore. 

To  which,  alone  unsexing,  purely  aspire  ! 


This  last  sonnet  seems  to  have  been  written  after  see- 
ing the  picture  of  Sand,  which  represents  her  in  a  man's 
dress,  but  with  long,  loose  hair,  and  an  eye  whose  mourn- 
ful fire  is  impressive,  even  in  the  caricatures. 

For  some  years  Sand  has  quitted  her  post  of  assail- 
ant. She  has  seen  that  it  is  better  to  seek  some  form  of 
life  worthy  to  supersede  the  old,  than  rudely  to  destroy 
it,  heedless  of  the  future.  Her  force  is  bending  towards 
philanthropic  measures.  She  does  not  appear  to  possess 
much  of  the  constructive  faculty ;  and,  though  her  writ- 
ings command  a  great  pecuniary  compensation,  and  have 


GEORGE    SAND.  235 

a  wide  sway,  it  is  rather  for  their  tendency  than  for  their 
thought.  She  has  reached  no  commanding  point  of  view 
from  which  she  may  give  orders  to  the  advanced  corps. 
She  is  still  at  work  with  others  in  the  breach,  though  she 
works  with  more  force  than  almost  any. 

In  power,  indeed.  Sand  bears  the  palm  above  all  other 
French  novelists.  She  is  vigorous  in  conception,  often 
great  in  the  apprehension  and  the  contrast  of  characters. 
She  knows  passion,  as  has  been  hinted,  at  a  white  heat, 
when  all  the  lower  particles  are  remoulded  by  its  power. 
Her  descriptive  talent  is  very  great,  and  her  poetic  feel- 
ing exquisite.  She  wants  but  little  of  being  a  poet,  but 
that  little  is  indispensable.  Yet  she  keeps  us  always 
hovering  on  the  borders  of  enchanted  fields.  She  has,  to 
a  signal  degree,  that  power  of  exact  transcript  from  her 
own  mind,  in  which  almost  all  writers  fail.  There  is  no 
veil,  no  half-plastic  integument  between  us  and  the 
thought ;  we  vibrate  perfectly  with  it. 

This  is  her  chief  charm,  and  next  to  it  is  one  in  which 
we  know  no  French  writer  that  resembles  her,  except 
Rousseau,  though  he,  indeed,  is  vastly  her  superior  in  it ; 
that  is,  of  concentrated  glow.  Her  nature  glows  beneath 
the  words,  like  fire  beneath  ashes, —  deep,  deep  ! 

Her  best  works  are  unequal ;  in  many  parts  written 
hastily,  or  carelessly,  or  with  flagging  spirits.  They  all 
promise  far  more  than  they  can  perform ;  the  work  is  not 
done  masterly ;  she  has  not  reached  that  point  where  a 
writer  sits  at  the  helm  of  his  own  genius. 

Sometimes  she  plies  the  oar, —  sometimes  she  drifts. 
But  what  greatness  she  has  is  genuine ;  there  is  no  tinsel 


236  MISCELLANIES. 

of  any  kind,  no  drapery  carefully  adjusted,  no  chosen 
gesture  about  her.  May  Heaven  lead  her,  at  last,  to  the 
full  possession  of  her  best  self,  in  harmony  with  the 
higher  laws  of  life  ! 

We  are  not  acquainted  with  all  her  works,  but  among 
those  we  know,  mention  "  La  Roche  Maupart^^^ 
"  AndH^^^  "  Jacques^''^  "  Les  Sept  Cordes  de  la  Lyre^^^ 
and  "  Les  Maiti^es  Mosaistes,^^  as  representing  her 
higher  inspirations,  her  sincerity  in  expression,  and  her 
dramatic  powers.  They  are  full  of  faults ;  still  they  show 
her  scope  and  aim  with  some  fairness,  which  such  of  her 
readers  as  chance  first  on  such  of  her  books  as  "  Leone 
Leoni  "  may  fail  to  find ;  or  even  such  as  "  Si?non,^^  and 
^'  Spiridio?i,^^  though  into  the  imperfect  web  of  these  are 
woven  threads  of  pure  gold.  Such  is  the  first  impression 
made  by  the  girl  Fiamma.  so  noble,  as  she  appears  before 
us  with  the  words  ^^ E  Vo7iore ;^^  such  the  thought  in 
Splridion  of  making  the  apparition  the  reward  of  virtue. 

The  work  she  is  now  publishing,  "  Consitelo,^^  with  its 
sequel,  '■'' Baroness  de  Riidolstadt^''^  exhibits  her  genius 
poised  on  a  firmer  pedestal,  breathing  a  serener  air.  Still 
it  is  faulty  in  conduct,  and  shows  some  obliquity  of 
vision.  She  has  not  reached  the  Interpreter's  house  yet. 
But  when  she  does,  she  will  have  clues  to  guide  many  a 
pilgrim,  whom  one  less  tried,  less  tempted  than  herself 
could  not  help  on  the  way. 


PROM  A  CRITICISM  ON  "CONSUELO." 

*  ^  *  *  *.  The  work  itself  cannot  fail  of  innumer- 
able readers,  and  a  great  influence,  for  it  counts  many  of 
the  most  significant  pulse-beats  of  the  time.  Apart  from 
its  range  of  character  and  fine  descriptions,  it  records 
some  of  the  mystical  apparitions,  and  attempts  to  solve 
some  of  the  problems  of  the  time.  How  to  combine  the 
benefits  of  the  religious  life  with  those  of  the  artist-life 
in  an  existence  more  simple,  more  full,  more  human  in 
short,  than  either  of  the  two  hitherto  known  by  these 
names  has  been,  —  this  problem  is  but  poorly  solved  in 
the  "  Countess  of  Rudolstadt,"  the  sequel  to  Consuelo. 
It  is  true,  as  the  English  reviewer  says,  that  George 
Sand  is  a  far  better  poet  than  philosopher,  and  that  the 
chief  use  she  can  be  of  in  these  matters  is,  by  her  great 
range  of  observation  and  fine  intuitions,  to  help  to  de- 
velop the  thoughts  of  the  time  adittle  way  further.  But 
the  sincerity,  the  reality  of  all  he  can  obtain  from  this 
writer  will  be  highly  valued  by  the  earnest  man. 

In  one  respect  the  book  is  entirely  successful — in  show- 
ing how  inward  purity  and  honor  may  preserve  a  woman 
from  bewilderment  and  danger,  and  secure  her  a  genuine 
independence.  Whoever  aims  at  this  is  still  considered, 
by  unthinking  or  prejudiced  minds,  as  wishing  to  despoil 
the  female  chai*acter  of  its  natural  and  peculiar  loveliness. 


238  MISCELLANIES. 

It  is  supposed  that  delicacy  must  imply  weakness,  and 
that  only  3n  Amazon  can  stand  upright,  and  have  suf- 
ficient command  of  her  faculties  to  confront  the  shock  of 
adversity,  or  resist  the  allurements  of  tenderness.  Miss 
Bremer,  Dumas,  and  the  northern  novelist,  Andersen, 
make  women  who  have  a  tendency  to  the  intellectual  life 
of  an  artist  fail,  and  suffer  the  penalties  of  arrogant 
presumption,  in  the  very  first  steps  of  a  career  to  which 
an  inward  vocation  called  them  in  preference  to  the  usual 
home  duties.  Yet  nothing  is  more  obvious  than  that  the 
circumstances  of  the  time  do,  more  and  more  frequently, 
call  women  to  such  lives,  and  that,  if  guardianship  is 
absolutely  necessary  to  women,  many  must  perish  for 
want  of  it.  There  is,  then,  reason  to  hope  that  God  may 
be  a  sufficient  guardian  to  those  who  dare  rely  on  him ; 
and  if  the  heroines  of  the  novelists  we  have  named  ended 
as  they  did,  it  was  for  the  want  of  the  purity  of  ambition 
and  simplicity  of  character  which  do  not  permit  such  as 
Consuelo  to  be  either  unsexed  and  depraved,  or  unresist- 
ing victims  and  breaking  reeds,  if  left  alone  in  the  storm 
and  crowd  of  life.  To  many  women  this  picture  will 
prove  a  true  Consuelo  (consolation),  and  we  think  even 
very  prejudiced  men  will  not  read  it  without  being 
charmed  with  the  expansion,  sweetness  and  genuine  force, 
of  a  female  character,  such  as  they  have  not  met,  but 
must,  when  painted,  recognize  as  possible,  and  may  be 
led  to  review  their  opinions,  and  perhaps  to  elevate  and 
enlarge  their  hopes,  as  to  "  Woman's  sphere  "  and  "  Wo- 
man's mission."  If  such  insist  on  what  they  have  heard 
of  the  private  life  of  this  writer,  and  refuse  to  believe 


FROM  A   CRITICISM   ON   CONSUELO.  239 

that  any  good  thing  can  come  out  of  Nazareth^  we  reply 
that  we  do  not  know  the  true  facts  as  to  the  history  of 
George  Sand.  There  has  been  no  memoir  or  notice  of  her 
published  on  which  any  one  can  rely,  and  we  have  seen 
too  much  of  life  to  accept  the  monsters  of  gossip  in 
reference  to  any  one.  But  we  know,  through  her  works, 
that,  whatever  the  stains  on  her  life  and  reputation  may 
have  been,  there  is  in  her  a  soul  so  capable  of  goodness 
and  honor  as  to  depict  them  most  successfully  in  her 
ideal  forms.  It  is  her  works,  and  not  her  private  life, 
that  we  are  considering.  Of  her  works  we  have  mean^ 
of  judging  ;  of  herself,  not.  But  among  those  who  have 
passed  unblamed  through  the  walks  of  life,  we  have  not 
often  found  a  nobleness  of  purpose  and  feeling,  a  sincere 
religious  hope,  to  be  compared  with  the  spirit  that 
breathes  through  the  pages  of  Consuelo. 

The  experiences  of  the  artist-life,  the  grand  and 
penetrating  remarks  upon  music,  make  the  book  a 
precious  acquisition  to  all  whose  hearts  are  fashioned  to 
understand  such  things. 

We  suppose  that  we  receive  here  not  only  the  mind 
of  the  writer,  but  of  Liszt,  with  whom  she  has  publicly 
corresponded  in  the  '^  Lettres  dun  Voyageur.''^  None 
could  more  avail  us,  for  ''  in  him  also  is  a  spark  of  the 
divine  fire,"  as  Beethoven  said  of  Ichubert.  We  may 
thus  consider  that  we  have  in  this  book  the  benefit  of  the 
most  electric  nature,  the  finest  sensibility,  and  the  bold- 
est spirit  of  investigation  combined,  expressing  themselves 
in  a  little  world  of  beautiful  or  picturesque  forms. 

Although  there  are  grave  problems  discussed,  and  sad 


240  MISCELLANIES. 

and  searching  experiences  described  in  this  work,  jet  its 
spirit  is,  in  the  main,  hopeful,  serene,  almost  glad.  It 
is  the  spirit  inspired  from  a  near  acquaintance  with  the 
higher  life  of  art.  Seeing  there  something  really 
achieved  and  completed,  corresponding  with  the  soul's 
desires,  faith  is  enlivened  as  to  the  eventual  fulfilment 
of  those  desires,  and  we  feel  a  certainty  that  the  exist- 
ence which  looks  at  present  so  marred  and  fragmentary 
shall  yet  end  in  harmony.  The  shuttle  is  at  work,  and 
the  threads  are  gradually  added  that  shall  bring  out  the 
pattern,  and  prove  that  what  seems  at  present  confusion 
is  really  the  way  and  means  to  order  and  beauty. 


JENNY  LIND, 

THE    "CONSUELO"    OF    GEORGE    SAND. 

Jenny  Lind,  the  prima  donna  of  Stockholm,  is  among 
the  most  distinguished  of  those  geniuses  who  have  been 
invited  to  welcome  the  queen  to  Germany.  Her  name 
has  been  unknown  among  us,  as  she  is  still  young,  and 
has  not  wandered  much  from  the  scene  of  her  first 
triumphs ;  but  many  may  have  seen,  last  winter,  in  the 
foreign  papers,  an  account  of  her  entrance  into  Stock- 
holm after  an  absence  of  some  length.  The  people 
received  her  with  loud  cries  of  homage,  took  the  horses 
from  her  carriage  and  drew  her  home ;  a  tribute  of 
respect  often  paid  to  conquerors  and  statesmen,  but 
seldom,  or,  as  far  as  we  know,  never  to  the  priesthood  of 
the  muses,  who  have  conferred  the  higher  benefit  of  rais- 
ing, refining  and  exhilarating,  the  popular  mind. 

An  accomplished  Swede,  now  in  this  country,  com- 
municated to  a  friend  particulars  of  Jenny  Lind's  career, 
which  suggested  the  thought  that  she  might  have  given 
the  hint  for  the  principal  figure  in  Sand's  late  famous 
novel,  "  Consuelo." 

This  work  is  at  present  in  process  of  translation  in 

''  The  Harbinger,"  a  periodical  published  at  Brook  Farm, 

Mass. ;  but,  as  this  translation  has  proceeded  but  a  little 

way,  and  the  book  in  its  native  tongue  is  not  generally, 

21 


242  MISCELLANIES. 

/though  It  has  been  extensively,  circulated  here,  we  will 
give  a  slight  sketch  of  its  plan. 

It  has  been  a  work  of  deepest  interest  to  those  who 
/  have  looked  upon  Sand  for  some  years  back,  as  one  of 
the  best  exponents  of  the  difficulties,  the  errors,  the 
aspirations,  the  weaknesses,  and  the  regenerative  powers 
f  the  present  epoch.  The  struggle  in  her  mind  and  the 
experiments  of  her  life  have  been  laid  bare  to  the  eyes 
of  her  fellow-creatures  with  fearless  openness  —  fearless 
not  shameless.  Let  no  man  confound  the  bold  unreserve 
of  Sand  with  that  of  those  who  have  lost  the  feeling  of 
beauty  and  the  love  of  good.  With  a  bleeding  heart  and 
bewildered  feet  she  sought  the  truth,  and  if  she  lost  the 
way,  returned  as  soon  as  convinced  she  had  done  so ;  but 
she  would  never  hide  the  fact  that  she  had  lost  it. 
''What  God  knows,  I  dare  avow  to  man,"  seems  to  be 
her  motto.  It  is  impossible  not  to  see  in  her,  not  only 
the  distress  and  doubts  of  the  intellect,  but  the  tempta- 
tions of  a  sensual  nature  ;  but  we  see  too  the  courage  of 
a  hero  and  a  deep  capacity  for  religion.  This  mixed 
nature,  too,  fits  her  peculiarly  to  speak  to  men  so  dis- 
eased as  men  are  at  present.  They  feel  she  knows  their 
ailment,  and  if  she  find  a  cure,  it  will  really  be  by  a 
specific  remeiiy, 

An  upward  tendency  and  growing  light  are  observable 
in  all  her  works  for  several  years  past,  till  now,  in  the 
present,  she  has  expressed  such  conclusions  as  forty 
years  of  the  most  varied  experience  have  brought  to  one 
who  has  shrunk  from  no  kind  of  discipline,  yet  still  cried 
to  God  amid  it  all ;   one  who,  whatever  you  may  say 


JENNY   LIND.  243 

against  her,  you  must  feel  has  never  accepted  a  word  for 
a  thing,  or  worn  one  moment  the  veil  of  hypocrisy  :  and 
this  person  one  of  the  most  powerful  nature,  both  as  to 
passion  and  action,  and  of  an  ardent,  glowing  genius. 
These  conclusions  are  sadly  incomplete.  There  is  an 
amazing  alloy  in  the  last  product  of  her  crucible,  but 
there  is  also  so  much  of  pure  gold  that  the  book  is 
truly  a  cordial,  as  its  name  of  Consuelo  (consolation) 
promises. 

The  young  Consuelo  lives  as  a  child  the  life  of  a 
beggar.  Her  youth  is  passed  in  the  lowest  circumstances 
of  the  streets  of  Venice.  She  brings  the  more  perti- 
nacious fire  of  Spanish  blood  to  be  fostered  by  the  cheer- 
ful airs  of  Italy.  A  vague  sense  of  the  benefits  to  be 
derived,  from  such  mingling  of  various  influences,  in  the 
formation  of  a  character,  is  to  be  discerned  in  several 
works  of  art  now,  when  men  are  really  wishing  to  become 
citizens  of  the  world,  though  old  habits  still  interfere  on 
every  side  with  so  noble  a  development. 

Nothing  can  be  more  charminoj  than  the  first  volume, 
which  describes  the  young  girl  amid  the  common  life  of 
Yenice.  It  is  sunny,  open,  and  romantic  as  the  place. 
The  beauty  of  her  voice,  when  a  little  singing-girl  in  the 
streets,  arrested  the  attention  of  a  really  great  and 
severe  master,  Porpora,  who  educated  her  to  music.  In 
this  she  finds  the  vent  and  the  echo  for  her  higher  self 
Her  afiections  are  fixed  on  a  young  companion,  an 
unworthy  object,  but  she  does  not  know  him  to  be  so. 
She  judges  from  her  own  candid  soul,  that  all  must  be 
good,  and  derives  from  the  tie,  for  a  while,  the  fostering 


244  MISCELLANIES. 

influences  which  love  alone  has  for  genius.  Clear  per- 
ception follows  quickly  upon  her  first  triumphs  in  art. 
They  have  given  her  a  rival,  and  a  mean  rival,  in  her 
betrothed,  whose  talent,  though  great,  is  of  an  inferior 
grade  to  hers ;  who  is  vain,  every  way  impure.  Her 
master,  Porpora,  tries  to  avail  himself  of  this  disappoint- 
ment to  convince  her  that  the  artist  ought  to  devote 
himself  to  art  alone;  that  private  ties  must  interfere 
with  his  perfection  and  his  glory.  But  the  nature  of 
Consuelo  revolts  against  this  doctrine,  as  it  would  against 
the  seclusion  of  a  convent.  She  feels  that  genius  requires 
manifold  experience  for  its  development,  and  that  the 
mind,  concentrated  on  a  single  object,  is  likely  to  pay  by 
a  loss  of  vital  energy  for  the  economy  of  thoughts  and 
time. 

Driven  by  these  circumstances  into  Germany,  she  is 
brought  into  contact  with  the  old  noblesse,  a  very  dif- 
ferent, but  far  less  charming,  atmosphere  than  that  of  the 
gondoliers  of  Venice.  But  here,  too,  the  strong,  simple 
character  of  our  Consuelo  is  unconstrained,  if  not  at 
home,  and  when  her  heart  swells  and  needs  expansion, 
she  can  sing. 

Here  the  Count  de  Rudolstadt,  Albert,  loves  Consuelo, 
which  seems,  in  the  conduct  of  the  relation,  a  type  of  a 
religious  democracy  in  love  with  the  spirit  of  art.  We 
do  not  mean  that  any  such  cold  abstraction  is  consciously 
intended,  but  all  that  is  said  means  this.  It  shadows 
forth  one  of  the  greatest  desires  which  convulse  our  age. 

A  most  noble  meaning  is  couched  in  the  history  of 
Albert,  and  though  the  writer  breaks  down  under  such 


JENNY  LIND.  245 

great  attempts,  and  the  religion  and  philosophy  of  the 
book  are  clumsily  embodied  compared  with  its  poesy 
and  rhetoric,  yet  great  and  still  growing  thoughts  are 
expressed  with  sufficient  force  to  make  the  book  a  com- 
panion of  rare  value  to  one  in  the  same  phase  of  mind. 

Albert  is  the  aristocratic  democrat,  such  as  Alfieri  was ; 
one  who,  in  his  keen  perception  of  beauty,  shares  the 
good  of  that  culture  which  ages  have  bestowed  on  the 
more  fortunate  classes,  but  in  his  large  heart  loves  and 
longs  for  the  good  of  all  men,  as  if  he  had  himself  suf- 
fered in  the  lowest  pits  of  human  misery.  He  is  all  this 
and  more  in  his  transmigration,  real  or  fancied,  of  soul, 
through  many  forms  of  heroic  effort  and  bloody  error  ;  in 
his  incompetency  to  act  at  the  present  time,  his  need  of 
long  silences,  of  the  company  of  the  dead  and  of  fools, 
and  eventually  of  a  separation  from  all  habitual  ties,  is 
expressed  a  great  idea,  which  is  still  only  in  the  throes  of 
birth,  yet  the  nature  of  whose  life  we  begin  to  prognosti- 
cate with  some  clearness. 

Consuelo's  escape  from  the  castle,  and  even  from 
Albert,  her  admiration  of  him,  and  her  incapacity  to  love 
him  till  her  own  character  be  more  advanced,  are  told 
with  great  naturalness.  Her  travels  with  Joseph  Haydn 
are  again  as  charmingly  told  as  the  Venetian  life.  Here 
the  author  speaks  from  her  habitual  existence,  and  far 
more  masterly  than  of  those  deep  places  of  thought  where 
she  is  less  at  home.  She  has  lived  much,  discerned 
much,  felt  great  need  of  great  thoughts,  but  not  been  able 
to  think  a  great  way  for  herself  She  fearlessly  accom- 
21* 


246  MISCELLANIES. 

panies  the  spirit  of  the  age,  but  she  never  surpasses  it ; 
^Jhat  is  the  office  of  the  great  thinker. 

At  Vienna  Consuelo  is  brought  fully  into  connection 
with  the  great  world  as  an  artist.  She  finds  that  its  real- 
ities, so  far  from  being  less,  are  even  more  harsh  and 
sordid  for  the  artist  than  for  any  other ;  and  that  with 
avarice,  envy  and  falsehood,  she  must  prepare  for  the  fear- 
ful combat  which  awaits  noble  souls  in  any  kind  of  arena, 
with  the  pain  of  disgust  when  they  cannot  raise  them- 
selves to  patience  —  with  the  almost  equal  pain,  when 
they  can,  of  pity  for  those  who  know  not  what  they  do. 

Albert  is  on  the  verge  of  the  grave ;  and  Consuelo, 
who,  not  being  able  to  feel  for  him  sufficient  love  to  find 
in  it  compensation  for  the  loss  of  that  artist-life  to  which 
she  feels  Nature  has  destined  her,  had  hitherto  resisted 
the  entreaties  of  his  aged  father,  and  the  pleadings  of  her 
own  reverential  and  tender  sympathy  with  the  wants  of 
his  soul,  becomes  his  wife  just  before  he  dies. 

The  sequel,  therefore,  of  this  history  is  given  under 
the  title  of  Countess  of  Rudolstadt.  Consuelo  is  still  on 
the  stage ;  she  is  at  the  Prussian  court.  The  well-known 
features  of  this  society,  as  given  in  the  memoirs  of  the 
time,  are  put  together  with  much  grace  and  wit.  The 
sketch  of  Frederic  is  excellent. 

The  rest  of  the  book  is  devoted  to  expression  of  the 
author's  ideas  on  the  subject  of  reform,  and  especially  of 
association  as  a  means  thereto.  As  her  thoughts  are  yet 
in  a  very  crude  state,  the  execution  of  this  part  is  equally- 
bungling  and  clumsy.  Worse :  she  falsifies  the  characters 
of  both  Consuelo  and  Albert, —  who  is  revived  again  by 


JENNY    LIND.  247 

subterfuge  of  trance, —  and  stains  her  best  arrangements 
by  the  mixture  of  falsehood  and  intrigue. 

Yet  she  proceeds  towards,  if  she  walks  not  by,  the  light 
of  a  great  idea ;  and  sincere  democracy,  universal  relig- 
ion, scatter  from  afar  many  seeds  upon  the  page  for  a 
future  time.  The  book  should  be,  and  will  be,  univer- 
sally read.  Those  especially  who  have  witnessed  all 
Sand's  doubts  and  sorrows  on  the  subject  of  marriage, 
will  rejoice  in  the  clearer,  purer  ray  which  dawns  upon 
her  now.  The  most  natural  and  deep  part  of  the  book, 
though  not  her  main  object,  is  what  relates  to  the  struggle 
between  the  claims  of  art  and  life,  as  to  whether  it  be 
better  for  the  world  and  one's  self  to  develop  to  perfec- 
tion a  talent  which  Heaven  seemed  to  have  assigned  as  a 
special  gift  and  vocation,  or  sacrifice  it  whenever  the 
character  seems  to  require  this  for  its  general  develop- 
ment. The  character  of  Consuelo  is,  throughout  the  first 
part,  strong,  delicate,  simple,  bold,  and  pure.  The  fair 
lines  of  this  picture  are  a  good  deal  broken  in  the  second 
part ;  but  we  must  remain  true  to  the  impression  origi- 
nally made  upon  us  by  this  charming  and  noble  creation 
of  the  soul  of  Sand. 

It  is  in  reference  to  our  Consuelo  that  a  correspond- 
ent *  writes,  as  to  Jenny  Lind ;  and  we  are  rejoiced  to 
find  that  so  many  hints  were,  or  might  have  been,  fur- 
nished for  the  picture  from  real  life.  If  Jenny  Lind  did 
not  suggest  it,  yet  she  must  also  be,  in  her  own  sphere,  a 
Consuelo. 

*  We  do  not  know  how  accurate  is  this  correspondent's  statement  of 
facts.     The  narrative  is  certainly  interesting.  —  Bd. 


248  MISCELLANIES. 

*'  Jenny  Lind  must  have  been  born  about  1822  or  1823. 
When  a  young  child,  she  was  observed,  playing  about  and 
singing  in  the  streets  of  Stockholm,  by  Mr.  Berg,  master 
of  singing  for  the  royal  opera.  Pleased  and  astonished 
at  the  purity  and  suavity  of  her  voice,  he  inquired 
instantly  for  her  family,  and  found  her  father,  a  poor  inn- 
keeper, willing  and  glad  to  give  up  his  daughter  to  his 
care,  on  the  promise  to  protect  her  and  give  her  an  excel- 
lent musical  education.  He  was  always  very  careful  of 
her,  never  permitting  her  to  sing  except  in  his  presence, 
and  never  letting  her  appear  on  the  stage,  unless  as  a 
mute  figure  in  some  ballet,  such,  for  instance,  as  Cupid 
and  the  Graces,  till  she  was  sixteen,  when  she  at  once 
executed  her  part  in  '  Der  Freyschutz,'  to  the  full  satis- 
faction and  surprise  of  the  public  of  Stockholm.  From 
that  time  she  gradually  became  the  favorite  of  every  one. 
Without  beauty,  she  seems,  from  her  innocent  and  gracious 
manners,  beautiful  on  the  stage  and  charming  in  society. 
She  is  one  of  the  few  actresses  whom  no  evil  tongue  can 
ever  injure,  and  is  respected  and  welcomed  in  any  and  all 
societies. 

"The  circumstances  that  reminded  me  of  Consuelowere 
these :  that  she  was  a  poor  child,  taken  up  by  this  sing- 
ing-master, and  educated  thoroughly  and  severely  by  him ; 
that  she  loved  his  son,  who  was  a  good-for-nothing  fellow, 
like  Anzoleto,  and  at  last  discarded  him ;  that  she  refused 
the  son  of  an  English  earl,  and,  when  he  fell  sick,  his 
father  condescended  to  entreat  for  him,  just  as  the  Count 
of  Rudolstadt  did  for  his  son ;  that,  though  plain  and 
low  in  stature,  when  singing  her  best  parts  she  appears 


JENNY   LIND.  249 

beautiful,  and  awakens  enthusiastic  admiration ;  that  she 
is  rigidly  correct  in  her  demeanor  towards  her  numerous 
admirers,  having  even  returned  a  present  sent  her  by  the 
crown-prince,  Oscar,  in  a  manner  that  she  deemed  equiv- 
ocal. This  last  circumstance  being  noised  abroad,  the 
next  time  she  appeared  on  the  stage  she  was  greeted  with 
more  enthusiastic  plaudits  than  ever,  and  thicker  showers 
of  flowers  fell  upon  her  from  the  hands  of  her  true  friends, 
the  public.  She  was  more  fortunate  than  Consuelo  in  not 
being  compelled  to  sing  to  a  public  of  Prussian  corporals." 

Indeed,  the  picture  of  Frederic's  opera-audience,  with 
the  pit  full  of  his  tall  grenadiers  with  their  wives  on  their 
shoulders,  never  daring  to  applaud  except  when  he  gave 
the  order,  as  if  by  tap  of  drum,  opposed  to  the  tender  and 
expansive  nature  of  the  artist,  is  one  of  the  best  tragi- 
comedies extant.  In  Russia,  too,  all  is  military ;  as  soon 
as  a  new  musician  arrives,  he  is  invested  with  a  rank  in 
the  army.  Even  in  the  church  Nicholas  has  lately  done 
the  same.  It  seems  as  if  he  could  not  believe  a  man  to  be 
alive,  except  in  the  army ;  could  not  believe  the  human 
heart  could  beat,  except  by  beat  of  drum.  But  we  be- 
lieve in  Russia  there  is  at  least  a  mask  of  gayety  thrown 
over  the  chilling  truth.  The  great  Frederic  wished  no 
disguise ;  everywhere  he  was  chief  corporal,  and  trampled 
with  his  everlasting  boots  the  fair  flowers  of  poesy  into  the 
dust. 

The  North  has  been  generous  to  us  of  late ;  she  has 
sent  us  Ole  Bull  She  is  about  to  send  Frederika 
Bremer.    May  she  add  Jenny  Lind  ! 


CAROLINE. 

The  other  evening  I  heard  a  gentle  voice  reading  aloud 
the  story  of  Maurice,  a  boy  who,  deprived  of  the  use  of  his 
limbs  by  paralysis,  was  sustained  in  comfort,  and  almost 
in  cheerfulness,  by  the  exertions  of  his  twin  sister.  Left 
with  him  in  orphanage,  her  affections  were  centred  upon 
him,  and,  amid  the  difficulties  his  misfortunes  brought 
upon  them,  grew  to  a  fire  intense  and  pure  enough  to 
animate  her  with  angelic  impulses  and  powers.  As  he 
could  not  move  about,  she  drew  him  everywhere  in  a 
little  cart ;  and  when  at  last  they  heard  that  sea-bathing 
might  accomplish  his  cure,  conveyed  him,  in  this  way, 
hundreds  of  miles  to  the  sea^shore.  Her  pious  devotion 
and  faith  were  rewarded  by  his  cure,  and  (a  French 
story  would  be  entirely  incomplete  otherwise)  with 
money,  plaudits  and  garlands,  from  the  by-standers. 

Though  the  story  ends  in  this  vulgar  manner,  it  is,  in 
its  conduct,  extremely  sweet  and  touching,  not  only  as  to 
the  beautiful  qualities  developed  by  these  trials  in  the 
brother  and  sister,  but  in  the  purifying  and  softening 
influence  exerted,  by  the  sight  of  his  helplessness  and  her 
goodness,  on  all  around  them. 

Those  who  are  the  victims  of  some  natural  blight 
often  fulfil  this  important  office,  and  bless  those  within 
their  sphere  more,  by  awakening  feelings  of  holy  tender- 


CAROLINE.  251 

ness  and  compassion,  than  a  man  healthy  and  strong  can 
do  bj  the  utmost  exertion  of  his  good-will  and  energies. 
Thus,  in  the  East,  men  hold  sacred  those  in  whom  they 
find  a  distortion  or  alienation  of  mind  which  makes  them 
unable  to  provide  for  themselves.  The  well  and  sane  feel 
themselves  the  ministers  of  Providence  to  carry  out  a  mys- 
terious purpose,  while  taking  care  of  those  who  are  thus  left 
incapable  of  taking  care  of  themselves  ;  and,  while  fulfill- 
ing this  ministry,  find  themselves  refined  and  made  better. 

The  Swiss  have  similar  feelings  as  to  those  of  their 
families  whom  cretinism  has  reduced  to  idiocy.  They  are 
attended  to,  fed,  dressed  clean,  and  provided  with  a  pleas- 
ant place  for  the  day,  before  doing  anything  else,  even 
by  very  busy  and  poor  people. 

We  have  seen  a  similar  instance,  in  this  country,  of 
voluntary  care  of  an  idiot,  and  the  mental  benefits  that 
ensued.  This  idiot,  like  most  that  are  called  so,  was  not 
without  a  glimmer  of  mind. 

His  teacher  was  able  to  give  him  some  notions,  both 
of  spiritual  and  mental  facts ;  at  least  she  thought  she 
had  given  him  the  idea  of  God,  and  though  it  appeared 
by  his  gestures  that  to  him  the  moon  was  the  representa- 
tive of  that  idea,  yet  he  certainly  did  conceive  of  some- 
thing above  him,  and  which  inspired  him  with  reverence 
and  delight.  He  knew  the  names  of  two  or  three  per- 
sons who  had  done  him  kindness,  and  when  they  were 
mentioned,  would  point  upward,  as  he  did  to  the  moon, 
showing  himself  susceptible,  in  his  degree,  of  Mr.  Car- 
lyle's  grand  method  of  education,  hero-worship.  She  had 
awakened  in  him  a  love  of  music,  so  that  he  could  be 


252  MISCELLANIES. 

soothed  in  his  most  violent  moods  by  her  gentle  SLiging. 
It  was  a  most  touching  sight  to  see  him  sitting  opposite 
to  her  at  such  times,  his  wondering  and  lack-lustre  eyes 
filled  with  childish  pleasure,  while  in  hers  gleamed  the 
same  pure  joj  that  we  may  suppose  to  animate  the  looks 
of  an  angel  appointed  by  Heaven  to  restore  a  ruined  world. 

We  knew  another  instance,  in  which  a  young  girl 
became  to  her  village  a  far  more  valuable  influence  than 
any  patron  saint  who  looks  down  from  his  stone  niche, 
while  his  votaries  recall  the  legend  of  his  goodness  in 
days  long  past. 

Caroline  lived  in  a  little,  quiet  country  village  —  quiet 
as  no  village  can  now  remain,  since  the  railroad  strikes 
its  spear  through  the  peace  of  country  life.  She  lived 
alone  with  a  widowed  mother,  for  whom,  as  well  as  for 
herself,  her  needle  won  bread,  while  the  mother's  strength 
and  skill  sufficed  to  the  simple  duties  of  their  household. 
They  lived  content  and  hopeful,  till,  whether  from  sitting 
still  too  much,  or  some  other  cause,  Caroline  became  ill, 
and  soon  the  physician  pronounced  her  spine  to  be  affected, 
and  to  such  a  degree  that  she  was  incurable. 

This  news  was  a  thunder-bolt  to  the  poor  little  cottage. 
The  mother,  who  had  lost  her  elasticity  of  mind,  wept  in 
despair ;  but  the  young  girl,  who  found  so  early  all  the 
hopes  and  joys  of  life  taken  from  her,  and  that  she  was 
seemingly  left  without  any  shelter  from  the  storm,  had 
even  at  first  the  faith  and  strength  to  bow  her  head  in 
gentleness,  and  say,  "  God  will  provide."  She  sustained 
and  cheered  her  mother. 

And  God  did  provide.     With  simultaneous  vibration 


CAROLINE.  253 

the  hearts  of  all  their  circle  acknowledged  the  divine 
obligation  of  love  and  mutual  aid  between  human  beings. 
Food,  clothing,  medicine,  service,  were  all  offered  freely 
to  the  widow  and  her  daughter. 

Caroline  grew  worse,  and  was  at  last  in  such  a  state 
that  she  could  only  be  moved  upon  a  sheet,  and  by  the 
aid  of  two  persons.  In  this  toilsome  service,  and  every 
other  that  she  required  for  years,  her  mother  never  needed 
to  ask  assistance.  The  neighbors  took  turns  in  doing  all 
that  was  required,  and  the  young  girls,  as  they  were  grow- 
ing up,  counted  it  among  their  regular  employments  to 
work  for  or  read  to  Caroline. 

Not  without  immediate  reward  was  their  service  of 
love.  The  mind  of  the  girl,  originally  bright  and  pure, 
was  quickened  and  wrought  up  to  the  finest  susceptibility 
by  the  nervous  exaltation  that  often  ensues  upon  affection 
of  the  spine.  The  soul,  which  had  taken  an  upward  im- 
pulse from  its  first  act  of  resignation,  grew  daily  more 
and  more  into  communion  with  the  higher  regions  of  life, 
permanent  and  pure.  Perhaps  she  was  instructed  by 
spirits  which,  having  passed  through  a  similar  trial  of 
pain  and  loneliness,  had  risen  to  see  the  reason  why. 
However  that  may  be,  she  grew  in  nobleness  of  vieiv  and 
purity  of  sentiment,  and,  as  she  received  more  instruc- 
tion from  books  also  than  any  other  person  in  her  circle, 
had.  from  many  visitors  abundant  information  as  to  the 
events  which  were  passing  around  her,  and  leisure  to 
reflect  on  them  with  a  disinterested  desire  for  truth,  she 
became  so  much  wiser  than  her  companions  as  to  be  at 
last  their  preceptress  and  best  friend,  and  her  brief, 
22 


254  MISCELLANIES. 

gentle  comments  and  counsels  were  listened  to  as  oracles 
from  one  enfranchised  from  the  films  which  selfishness 
and  passion  cast  over  the  eyes  of  the  multitude. 

The  tAvofold  blessing  conferred  by  her  presence,  both 
in  awakening  none  but  good  feelings  in  the  hearts  of 
others,  and  in  the  instruction  she  became  able  to  confer, 
was  such,  that,  at  the  end  of  five  years,  no  member  of 
that  society  would  have  been  so  generally  lamented  as 
Caroline,  had  Death  called  her  away. 

But  the  messenger,  who  so  often  seems  capricious  in 
his  summons,  took  first  the  aged  mother,  and  the  poor 
girl  found  that  life  had  yet  the  power  to  bring  her  grief, 
unexpected  and  severe. 

And  now  the  neighbors  met  in  council.  Caroline  could 
not  be  left,  quite  alone  in  the  house.  Should  they  take 
turns,  and  stay  with  her  by  night  as  well  as  by  day  ? 

''Not  so,"  said  the  blacksmith's  wife ;  "the  house  will 
never  seem  like  home  to  her  now,  poor  thing!  and 
't  would  be  kind  of  dreary  for  her  to  change  about  her 
nusses  so.  I  '11  tell  you  what ;  all  my  children  but  one 
are  married  and  gone  off;  we  have  property  enough ;  I 
will  have  a  good  room  fixed  for  her,  and  she  shall  live 
with  us.     My  husband  wants  her  to,  as  much  as  me." 

The  council  acquiesced  in  this  truly  humane  arrange- 
ment, and  Caroline  lives  there  still ;  and  we  are  assured 
that  none  of  her  friends  dread  her  departure  so  much  as 
the  blacksmith's  wife. 

"'Ta'n't  no  trouble  at  all  to  have  her,"  she  says, 
*'  and  if  it  was,  I  should  n't  care ;  she  is  so  good  and  still, 


CAROLINE.  255 

ahd  talks  so  pretty !    It 's  as  good  bein'  with  her  as  goin' 
to  meetin'  !  " 

De  Maistre  relates  some  similar  passages  as  to  a  sick 
girl  in  St.  Petersburgh,  though  his  mind  dwelt  more  on 
the  spiritual  beauty  evinced  in  her  remarks,  than  on  the 
good  she  had  done  to  those  around  her.  Indeed,  none 
bless  more  than  those  who  "  only  stand  and  wait."  Even 
if  their  passivity  be  enforced  by  fate,  it  will  become  a 
spiritual  activity,  if  accepted  in  a  faith  higher  above  fate 
than  the  Greek  gods  were  supposed  to  sit  enthroned  above 
misfortune. 


EVER-GROWING  LIVES. 

**  Age  could  not  wither  her,  nor  custom  stale 
Her  infinite  variety." 

So  was  one  person  described  by  the  pen  which  has 
made  a  clearer  mark  than  any  other  on  the  history  of 
Man.  But  is  it  not  surprising  that  such  a  description 
should  apply  to  so  few  ? 

Of  two  or  three  women  we  read  histories  that  corre- 
spond with  the  hint  given  in  these  lines.  They  were 
women  in  whom  there  was  intellect  enough  to  temper  and 
enrich,  heart  enough  to  soften  and  enliven  the  entire 
being.  There  was  soul  enough  to  keep  the  body  beauti- 
ful through  the  term  of  earthly  existence  ;  for  while  the 
roundness,  the  pure,  delicate  lineaments,  the  flowery 
bloom  of  youth  were  passing,  the  marks  left  in  the  course 
of  those  years  were  not  merely  of  time  and  care,  but  also 
of  exquisite  emotions  and  noble  thoughts.  With  such 
chisels  Time  works  upon  his  statues,  tracery  and  fretwork, 
well  worth  the  loss  of  the  first  virgin  beauty  of  the  ala- 
baster ;  while  the  fire  within,  growing  constantly  brighter 
and  brighter,  shows  all  these  changes  in  the  material,  as 
rich  and  varied  ornaments.  The  vase,  at  last,  becomes  a 
lamp  of  beauty,  fit  to  animate  the  councils  of  the  great, 
or  the  solitude  of  the  altar. 


EVER-GROWING  LIVES.  257 

Two  or  three  women  there  have  been,  who  have  thus 
grown  even  more  beautiful  with  age.  We  know  of  many 
more  men  of  whom  this  is  true.  These  have  been  heroes, 
or  still  more  frequently  poets  and  artists ;  with  whom 
the  habitual  life  tended  to  expand  the  soul,  deepen  and 
vary  the  experience,  refine  the  perceptions,  and  immor- 
talize the  hopes  and  dreams  of  youth. 

They  were  persons  who  never  lost  their  originality  of 
character,  nor  spontaneity  of  action.  Their  impulses 
proceeded  from  a  fulness  and  certainty  of  character,  that 
made  it  impossible  they  should  doubt  or  repent,  whatever 
the  results  of  their  actions  might  be. 

They  could  not  repent,  in  matters  little  or  great, 
because  they  felt  that  their  actions  were  a  sincere  expo- 
sition of  the  wants  of  their  souls.  Their  impulsiveness 
was  not  the  restless  fever  of  one  who  must  change  his 
place  somehow  or  some- whither,  but  the  waves  of  a  tide, 
which  might  be  swelled  to  vehemence  by  the  action  of  the 
winds  or  the  influence  of  an  attractive  orb,  but  was  none 
the  less  subject  to  fixed  laws. 

A  character  which  does  not  lose  its  freedom  of  motion 
and  impulse  by  contact  with  the  world,  grows  with  its 
years  more  richly  creative,  more  freshly  individual.  It 
is  a  character  governed  by  a  principle  of  its  own,  and  not 
by  rules  taken  from  other  men's  experience ;  and  therefore 
it  is  that 

•'  Age  cannot  wither  them,  nor  custom  stale 
Their  infinite  variety." 

Like  violins,  they  gain  by  age,  and  the  spirit  of  him 
who  discourseth  through  them  most  excellent  music, 

22* 


258  •  MISCELLANIES. 

**  Like  wine  well  kept  and  long. 
Heady,  nor  harsh,  nor  strong, 
With  each  succeeding  year  is  quaffed 
A  richer,  purer,  mellower  draught." 

Our  French  neighbors  have  been  the  object  of  humor- 
ous satire  for  their  new  coinage  of  terms  to  describe  the 
heroes  of  their  modern  romance.  A  hero  is  no  hero 
unless  he  has  "  ravaged  brows,"  is  "blase  "  or  "brise  "" 
or  "  fatigue."  His  eyes  must  be  languid,  and  his  cheeks 
hollow.  Youth,  health  and  strength,  charm  no  more; 
only  the  tree  broken  by  the  gust  of  passion  is  beautiful, 
only  the  lamp  that  has  burnt  out  the  better  part  of  its  oil 
precious,  in  their  eyes.  This,  with  them,  assumes  the  air 
of  caricature  and  grimace,  yet  it  indicates  a  real  want  of 
this  time  —  a  feeling  that  the  human  being  ought  to  grow 
more  rather  than  less  attractive  with  the  passage  of 
time,  and  that  the  decrease  in  physical  charms  would,  in 
a  fair  and  full  life,  be  more  than  compensated  by  an 
increase  of  those  which  appeal  to  the  imagination  and 
higher  feelings. 

A  friend  complains  that,  while  most  men  are  like 
music-boxes,  which  you  can  wind  up  to  play  their  set  of 
tunes,  and  then  they  stop,  in  our  society  the  set  consists 
of  only  two  or  three  tunes  at  most.  That  is  because  no 
new  melodies  are  added  after  five-and-twenty  at  farthest. 
It  is  the  topic  of  jest  and  amazement  with  foreigners  that 
what  is  called  society  is  given  up  so  much  into  the  hands 
of  boys  and  girls.  Accordingly  it  wants  spirit,  variety 
and  depth  of  tone,  and  we  find  there  no  historical  pres- 
ences, none  of  the  charms,  infinite  in  variety,  of  Cleopatra, 


EVER-GROWING   LIVES.  259 

no  heads  of  Julius  Caesar,  overflowing  with  meanings,  as 
the  sun  with  light. 

Sometimes  we  hear  an  educated  voice  that  shows  us 
how  these  things  might  be  altered.  It  has  lost  the  fresh 
tone  of  youth,  but  it  has  gained  unspeakably  in  depth, 
brilliancy,  and  power  of  expression.  How  exquisite  its 
modulations,  so  finely  shaded,  showing  that  all  the  inter- 
vals are  filled  up  with  little  keys  of  fairy  delicacy  and  in 
perfect  tune  ! 

Its  deeper  tones  sound  the  depth  of  the  past ;  its 
more  thrilling  notes  express  an  awakening  to  the  infinite, 
and  ask  a  thousand  questions  of  the  spirits  that  are  to 
unfold  our  destinies,  too  far-reaching  to  be  clothed  in 
words.  Who  does  not  feel  the  sway  of  such  a  voice  ?  It 
makes  the  whole  range  of  our  capacities  resound  and 
tremble,  and,  when  there  is  positiveness  enough  to  give 
an  answer,  calls  forth  most  melodious  echoes. 

The  human  eye  gains,  in  like  manner,  by  time  and  ex- 
perience. Its  substance  fades,  but  it  is  only  the  more 
filled  with  an  ether^sal  lustre  which  penetrates  the  gazer 
till  he  feels  as  if 

"  That  eye  were  in  itself  a  soul," 

and  realizes  the  range  of  its  power 

*'  To  rouse,  to  win,  to  fascinate,  to  melt, 
And  by  its  spell  of  undefined  control 
Magnetic  draw  the  secrets  of  the  soul." 

The  eye  that  shone  '  beneath  the  white  locks  of  Thor- 
waldsen  was  such  an  one,  —  the  eye  of  immortal  youth, 
the  indicator  of  the  man's  whole  aspect  in  a  future  sphere. 


260  MISCELLANIES. 

We  have  scanned  such  eyes  closely ;  when  near,  we  saw 
that  the  lids  were  red,  the  corners  defaced  with  omi- 
nous marks,  the  orb  looked  faded  and  tear-stained ;  hut 
when  we  retreated  far  enough  for  its  ray  to  reach  us,  it 
seemed  far  younger  than  the  clear  and  limpid  gaze  of 
infancy,  more  radiant  than  the  sweetest  beam  in  that  of 
early  youth.  The  Future  and  the  Past  met  in  that 
glance. 

0  for  more  such  eyes  !     The  vouchers  of  free,  of  full 
and  ever-growing  lives  ! 


HOUSEHOLD   NOBLENESS. 

"  Mistress  of  herself,  though  China  1^11." 

Women,  in  general,  are  indignant  that  the  satirist 
should  have  made  this  the  climax  to  his  praise  of  a 
woman.  And  yet,  we  fear,  he  saw  only  too  truly. 
What  unexpected  failures  have  we  seen,  literally,  in  this 
respect !  How  often  did  the  Martha  blur  the  Mary  out 
of  the  face  of  a  lovely  woman  at  the  sound  of  a  crash 
amid  glass  and  porcelain  !  What  sad  littleness  in  all  the 
department  thus  represented!  Obtrusion  of  the  mop 
and  duster  on  the  tranquil  meditation  of  a  husband  and 
brother.  Impatience  if  the  carpet  be  defaced  by  the  feet 
even  of  cherished  friends. 

There  is  a  beautiful  side,  and  a  good  reason  here ;  but 
why  must  the  beauty  degenerate,  and  give  place  to 
meanness  ? 

To  Woman  the  care  of  home  is  confided.  It  is  the 
sanctuary,  of  which  she  should  be  the  guardian  angel. 
To  all  elements  that  are  introduced  there  she  should  be 
the  "ordering  mind."  She  represents  the  spirit  of 
beauty,  and  her  influence  should  be  spring-like,  clothing 
all  objects  within  her  sphere  with  lively,  fresh  and  ten- 
der hues. 

She  represents  purity,  and  all  that  appertains  to  hei 
should  be  kept   delicately  pure.     She  is  modesty,  and 


262  MISCELLANIES. 

draperies  should  soften  all  rude  lineaments,  and  exclude 
glare  and  dust.  She  is  harmony,  and  all  objects  should 
be  in  their  places  ready  for,  and  matched  to,  their  uses. 

We  all  know  that  there  is  substantial  reason  for  the 
offence  we  feel  at  defect  in  any  of  these  ways.  A  woman 
who  wants  purity,  modesty  and  harmony,  in  her  dress 
and  manners,  is  insufferable ;  one  who  wants  them  in  the 
arrangements  of  her  house,  disagreeable  to  everybody. 
She  neglects  the  most  obvious  ways  of  expressing  what 
we  desire  to  see  in  her,  and  the  inference  is  ready,  that 
the  inward  sense  is  wanting. 

It  is  with  no  merely  gross  and  selfish  feeling  that  all 
men  commend  the  good  housekeeper,  the  good  nurse. 
Neither  is  it  slight  praise  to  say  of  a  woman  that  she 
does  well  the  honors  of  her  house  in  the  way  of  hospital- 
ity. The  wisdom  that  can  maintain  serenity,  cheerful- 
ness and  order,  in  a  little  world  of  ten  or  twelve  persons, 
and  keep  ready  the  resources  that  are  needed  for  their 
sustenance  and  recovery  in  sickness  and  sorrow,  is  the 
same  that  holds  the  stars  in  their  places,  and  patiently 
prepares  the  precious  metals  in  the  most  secret  chambers 
of  the  earth.  The  art  of  exercising  a  refined  hospitality 
is  a  fine  art,  and  the  music  thus  produced  only  differs 
from  that  of  the  orchestra  in  this,  that  in  the  former 
case  the  overture  or  sonata  cannot  be  played  twice  in  the 
same  manner.  It  requires  that  the  hostess  shall  combine 
true  self-respect  and  repose, 

**  The  simple  art  of  not  too  much," 

with  refined  perception  of  individual  traits  and  moods  in 


HOUSEHOLD  NOBLENESS.  263 

character,  with  variety  and  vivacity,  an  ease,  grace  and 
gentleness,  that  diffuse  their  sweetness  insensibly  through 
every  nook  of  an  assembly,  and  call  out  reciprocal  sweet- 
ness wherever  there  is  any  to  be  found. 

The  only  danger  in  all  this  is  the  same  that  besets  us 
in  every  walk  of  life ;  to  wit,  that  of  preferring  the 
outward  sign  to  the  inward  spirit  whenever  there  is 
cause  to  hesitate  between  the  two. 

"  I  admire,"  says  Goethe,  ''  the  Chinese  novels  ;  they 
express  so  happily  ease,  peace  and  a  finish  unknown  to 
other  nations  in  the  interior  arrangements  of  their 
homes. 

^'  In  one  of  them  I  came  upon  the  line,  '  I  heard  the 
lovely  maidens  laughing,  and  found  my  way  to  the 
garden,  where  they  were  seated  in  their  light  cane- 
chairs.'  To  me  this  brings  an  immediate  animation,  by 
the  images  it  suggests  of  lightness,  brightness  and  ele- 
gance." 

This  is  most  true,  but  it  is  also  most  true  that  the 
garden-house  would  not  seem  thus  charming  unless  its 
light  cane-chairs  had  lovely,  laughing  maidens  seated  in 
them.  And  the  lady  who  values  her  porcelain,  that 
most  exquisite  product  of  the  peace  and  thorough -breed- 
ing of  China,  so  highly,  should  take  the  hint,  and  re- 
member that  unless  the  fragrant  herb  of  wit,  sweetened 
by  kindness,  and  softened  by  the  cream  of  affability,  also 
cro^ni  her  board,  the  prettiest  tea-cups  in  the  world 
might  as  well  lie  in  fragments  in  the  gutter,  as  adorn  her 
social  show.  The  show  loses  its  beauty  when  it  ceases 
to  represent  a  substance. 


264  MISCELLANIES. 

Here,  as  elsewhere,  it  is  only  vanity,  narrowness  and 
self-seeking,  that  spoil  a  good  thing.  Women  would 
never  be  too  good  housekeepers  for  their  own  peace  and 
that  of  others,  if  they  considered  housekeeping  only  as  a 
means  to  an  end.  If  their  object  were  really  the  peace 
and  joy  of  all  concerned,  they  could  bear  to  have  their 
cups  and  saucers  broken  more  easily  than  their  tempers, 
and  to  have  curtains  and  carpets  soiled,  rather  than  their 
hearts  by  mean  and  small  feelings.  But  they  are 
brought  up  to  think  it  is  a  disgrace  to  be  a  bad  house- 
keeper, not  because  they  must,  by  such  a  defect,  be  a 
cause  of  suffering  and  loss  of  time  to  all  within  their 
sphere,  but  because  all  other  women  will  laugh  at  them 
if  they  are  so.  Here  is  the  vice,  —  for  want  of  a  high 
motive  there  can  be  no  truly  good  action. 

We  have  seen  a  woman,  otherwise  noble  and  magnani- 
mous in  a  high  degree,  so  insane  on  this  point  as  to  weep 
bitterly  because  she  found  a  little  dust  on  her  picture- 
frames,  and  torment  her  guests  all  dinner-time  with 
excuses  for  the  way  in  which  the  dinner  was  cooked. 

We  have  known  others  to  join  with  their  servants  to 
backbite  the  best  and  noblest  friends  for  trifling  derelic- 
tions against  the  accustomed  order  of  the  house.  The 
broom  swept  out  the  memory  of  much  sweet  counsel  and 
loving-kindness,  and  spots  on  the  table-cloth  were  more 
regarded  than  those  they  made  on  their  own  loyalty  and 
honor  in  the  most  intimate  relations. 

"The  worst  of  furies  is  a  woman  scorned,"  and  the 
sex,  so  lively,  mobile,  impassioned,  when  passion  is 
aroused  at  all,  are  in  danger  of  frightful  error,  under 


HOUSEHOLD  NOBLENESS.  265 

great  temptation.  The  angel  can  give  place  to  a  more 
subtle  and  treacherous  demon,  though  one,  generally,  of 
less  tantalizing  influence,  than  in  the  breast  of  man.  In 
great  crises.  Woman  needs  the  highest  reason  to  restrain 
her;  but  her  besetting  sin  is  that  of  littleness.  Just 
because  nature  and  society  unite  to  call  on  her  for 
such  fineness  and  finish,  she  can  be  so  petty,  so  fretful, 
so  vain,  envious  and  base  !  0,  women,  see  your  danger  ! 
See  how  much  you  need  a  great  object  in  all  your  little 
actions.  You  cannot  be  fair,  nor  can  your  homes  be 
fair,  unless  you  are  holy  and  noble.  Will  you  sweep 
and  garnish  the  house,  only  that  it  may  be  ready  for 
a  legion  of  evil  spirits  to  enter  in  —  for  imps  and 
demons  of  gossip,  frivolity,  detraction,  and  a  restless 
fever  about  small  ills  ?  What  is  the  house  for,  if  good 
spirits  cannot  peacefully  abide  there?  Lo  !  they  are  ask- 
ing for  the  bill  in  more  than  one  well-garnished  man- 
sion. They  sought  a  home  and  found  a  work-house. 
Martha  !  it  was  thy  fault ! 
23 


"GLUMDALCLITCHEj." 

This  title  was  wittily  given  by  an  editor  of  this  city 
to  the  ideal  woman  demanded  in  "  Woman  in  the  Nine- 
teenth Century."  We  do  not  object  to  it,  thinking  it 
is  really  desirable  that  women  should  grow  beyond  the 
average  size  which  has  been  prescribed  for  them.  We 
find  in  the  last  news  from  Pans  these  anecdotes  of  two 
who  ^''  tower  "  an  inch  or  more  ''above  their  sex,"  if  not 
yet  of  Glumdalclitch  stature. 

"  Bravissima  !  —  The  7th  of  May,  at  Paris,  a  young 
girl,  who  was  washing  linen,  fell  into  the  Canal  St. 
Martin.  Those  around  called  out  for  help,  but  none  ven- 
tured to  give  it.  Just  then  a  young  lady  elegantly 
dressed  came  up  and  saw  the  case  :  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye  she  threw  off  her  hat  and  shawl,  threw  herself  in, 
and  succeeded  in  dragging  the  young  girl  to  the  brink, 
after  having  sought  for  her  in  vain  several  times  under 
the  water.  This  lady  was  Mile.  Adele  Chevalier,  an 
actress.  She  was  carried,  with  the  girl  she  had  saved, 
into  a  neighboring  house,  which  she  left,  after  having 
received  the  necessary  cares,  in  a  fiacre,  and  amid  the 
plaudits  of  the  crowd." 

The  second  anecdote  is  of  a  difierent  kind,  but  displays 
a  kind  of  magnanimity  still  more  unusual  in  this  poor 
servile  world: 


GLUMDALCLITCHES.  267 

"  One  of  our  (French)  most  distinguished  painters  of 
sea-subjects.  Gudin,  has  married  a  rich  young  English 
ladj,  belonging  to  a  family  of  high  rank,  and  related  to 
the   Duke    of   Wellington.     M.    Gudin   was    lately   at 

Berlin  at  the  same  time  with  K ,  inspector  of  pictures 

to  the  King  of  Holland.  The  King  of  Prussia  desired 
that  both  artists  should  be  presented  to  him,  and  received 
Gudin  in  a  very  flattering  manner ;  his  genius  being  his 
only  letter  of  recommendation. 

"Monsieur  K has  not  the  same  advantage;  but, 

to  make  up  for  it,  he  has  a  wife  who  enjoys  in  Holland  a 
great  reputation  for  her  beauty.  The  King  of  Prussia  is 
a  cavalier,  who  cares  more  for  pretty  ladies  than  for 

genius.     So  Monsieur  and  Madame  K were  invited 

to  the  royal  table  —  an  honor  which  was  not  accorded  to 
Monsieur  and  Madame  Gudin. 

"  Humble  representations  were  made  to  the  monarch, 
advising  him  not  to  make  such  a  marked  distinction 
between  the  French  artist  and  the  Dutch  amateur. 
These  failing,  the  wise  counsellors  went  to  Madame  Gudin, 
and,  intimating  that  they  did  so  with  the  good-will  of  the, 
king,  said  that  she  might  be  received  as  cousin  to  the 
Duke  of  Wellington,  as  daughter  of  an  English  general, 
and  of  a  family  which  dates  back  to  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury. She  could,  if  she  wished,  avail  herself  of  her 
rights  of  birth  to  obtain  the  same  honors  with  Madame 

K .     To  sit  at  the  table  of  the  king,  she  need  only 

cease  for  a  moment  to  be  Madame  Gudin,  and  become 
once  more  Lady  L ." 

Does  not  all  this  sound  like  a  history  of  the  seven- 


268  MISCELLANIES. 

teenth  century?  Surelj  etiquette  was  never  main- 
tained in  a  more  arrogant  manner  at  the  court  of  Louis 
XIY. 

But  Madame  Gudin  replied  that  her  highest  pride  lay 
in  the  celebrated  name  which  she  bears  at  present ;  that 
she  did  not  wish  to  rely  on  any  other  to  obtain  so  futile 
a  distinction,  and  that,  in  her  eyes,  the  most  noble 
escutcheon  was  the  palette  of  her  husband. 

I  need  not  say  that  this  dignified  feeling  was  not  com- 
prehended. Madame  Gudin  was  not  received  at  the  table, 
but  she  had  shown  the  nobleness  of  her  character.     For 

the  rest,  Madame  K ,  on  arriving  at  Paris,  had  the 

bad  taste  to  boast  of  having  been  distinguished  above 
Madame  Gudin,  and  the  story  reaching  the  Tuileries, 
where  Monsieur  and  Madame  Gudin  are  highly  favored, 
excited  no  little  mirth  in  the  circle  there. 


"ELLEN:  OR,  PORGIVE  AND  FORGET." 

We  notice  this  coarsely-written  little  fiction  because  it 
is  one  of  a  class  which  we  see  growing  with  pleasure.  We 
see  it  with  pleasure,  because,  in  its  way,  it  is  genuine.  It 
is  a  transcript  of  the  crimes,  calumnies,  excitements,  half- 
blind  love  of  right,  and  honest  indignation  at  the  sort  of 
wrong  which  it  can  discern,  to  be  found  in  the  class  from 
which  it  emanates. 

That  class  is  a  large  one  in  our  country  villages,  and 
these  books  reflect  its  thoughts  and  manners  as  half-penny 
ballads  do  the  life  of  the  streets  of  London.  The  ballads 
are  not  more  true  to  the  facts ;  but  they  give  us,  in  a 
coarser  form,  far  more  of  the  spirit  than  we  get  from  the 
same  facts  reflected  in  the  intellect  of  a  Dickens,  for  in- 
stance, or  of  any  writer  far  enough  above  the  scene  to  be 
properly  its  artist. 

So,  in  this  book,  we  find  what  Cooper,  Miss  Sedgwick' 
and  Mrs.  Kirkland,  might  see,  as  the  writer  did,  but  could 
hardly  believe  in  enough  to  speak  of  it  with  such  fidelity. 

It  is  a  current'  superstition  that  country  people  are 
more  pure  and  healthy  in  mind  and  body  than  those  who 
live  in  cities.  It  may  be  so  in  countries  of  old-established 
habits,  where  a  genuine  peasantry  have  inherited  some  of 
the  practical  wisdom  and  loyalty  of  the  past,  with  most 
23* 


270  MISCELLANIES. 

of  its  errors.  "We  have  our  doubts,  though,  from  the 
stamp  upon  literature,  always  the  nearest  evidence  of 
truth  we  can  get,  whether,  even  there,  the  difference 
between  town  and  country  life  is  as  much  in  favor  of  the 
latter  as  is  generally  supposed.  But  in  our  land,  where 
the  country  is  at  present  filled  with  a  mixed  population, 
who  come  seeking  to  be  purified  by  a  better  life  and  cul- 
ture from  all  the  ills  and  diseases  of  the  w^orst  forms  of 
civilization,  things  often  look  worse  than  in  the  city; 
perhaps  because  men  have  more  time  and  room  to  let  their 
faults  grow  and  ofiend  the  light  of  day. 

There  are  exceptions,  and  not  a  few ;  but,  in  a  very 
great  proportion  of  country  villages,  the  habits  of  the 
people,  as  to  food,  air,  and  even  exercise,  are  ignorant  and 
unhealthy  to  the  last  degree.  Their  want  of  all  pure 
faith,  and  appetite  for  coarse  excitement,  is  shown  by 
continued  intrigues,  calumnies,  and  crimes. 

We  have  lived  in  a  beautiful  village,  where,  more  favor- 
ably placed  than  any  other  person  in  it,  both  as  to  with- 
drawal from  bad  associations  and  nearness  to  good, 
we  heard  inevitably,  from  domestics,  work-people,  and 
school-children,  more  ill  of  human  nature  than  we  could 
possibly  sift  were  we  to  elect  such  a  task  from  all  the 
newspapers  of  this  city  in  the  same  space  of  time. 

We  believe  the  amount  of  ill  circulated  by  means  of 
/anonymous  letters,  as  described  in  this  book,  to  be  as 
great  as  can  be  imported  in  all  the  French  novels  (and 
that  is  a  bold  word).  We  know  ourselves  of  two  or  three 
cases  of  morbid  wickedness,  displayed  by  means  of  anony- 
mous letters,  that  may  vie  with  what  puzzled  the  best  wits 


571 


of  France  in  a  famous  law-suit  not  long  since.  It  is  true, 
there  is,  to  balance  all  this,  a  healthy  rebound, —  a  sur- 
prise and  a  shame ;  and  there  are  heartily  good  people, 
such  as  are  described  in  this  book,  who,  having  taken  a 
direction  upward,  keep  it,  and  cannot  be  bent  downward 
nor  aside.  But,  then,  the  reverse  of  the  picture  is  of  a 
blackness  that  would  appall  one  who  came  to  it  with  any 
idyllic  ideas  of  the  purity  and  peaceful  loveliness  of 
agi'icultural  life. 

But  what  does  this  prove  ?  Only  the  need  of  a  dis- 
semination of  all  that  is  best,  intellectually  and  morally, 
through  the  whole  people.  Our  groves  and  fields  have 
no  good  fairies  or  genii  who  teach,  by  legend  or  gentle 
apparition,  the  truths,  the  principles,  that  can  alone  pre- 
serve the  village,  as  the  city,  from  the  possession  of  the 
fiend.  Their  place  must  be  taken  by  the  school-master, 
and  he  must  be  one  who  knows  not  only  '•'  readin', 
writin',  and  'rithmetic,"  but  the  service  of  God  and  the 
destiny  of  man.  Our  people  require  a  thoroughly-dif- 
fused intellectual  life,  a  religious  aim,  such  as  no  people 
at  large  ever  possessed  before ;  else  they  must  sink  till 
they  become  dregs,  rather  than  rise  to  become  the  cream 
of  creation,  which  they  are  too  apt  to  flatter  thomselves 
with  the  fancy  of  being  already. 

The  most  interesting  fiction  we  have  ever  read  iu  this 
coarse,  homely,  but  genuine  class,  is  one  called  "  Metal- 
lek."  It  may  be  in  circulation  in  this  city ;  but  Ave 
bought  it  in  a  country  nook,  and  from  a  pedlar ;  and  it 
seemed  to  belong  to  the  country.  Had  we  met  with  it  in 
any  other  way.  it  would  probably  have  been  to  throw  it 


272  MISCELLANIES. 

aside  again  directly,  for  the  author  does  not  know  how 
to  write  English,  and  the  first  chapters  give  no  idea  of 
his  power  of  apprehending  the  poetrj  of  life.  But  hap- 
pening to  read  on,  we  became  fixed  and  charmed,  and 
have  retained  from  its  perusal  the  sweetest  picture  of 
life  lived  in  this  land,  ever  afforded  us,  out  of  the  pale 
of  personal  observation.  That  such  things  are,  private 
observation  has  made  us  sure ;  but  the  writers  of  books 
rarely  seem  to  have  seen  them ;  rarely  to  have  walked 
alone  in  an  untrodden  path  long  enough  to  hold  com- 
mune with  the  spirit  of  the  scene. 

In  this  book  you  find  the  very  life ;  the  most  vulgar 
prose,  and  the  most  exquisite  poetry.  You  follow  the 
hunter  in  his  path,  walking  through  the  noblest  and 
fairest  scenes  only  to  shoot  the  poor  animals  that  were 
happy  there,  winning  from  the  pure  atmosphere  little 
benefit  except  to  good  appetite,  sleeping  at  night  in  the 
dirty  hovels,  with  people  who  burrow  in  them  to  lead  a 
life  but  little  above  that  of  the  squirrels  and  foxes. 
There  is  throughout  that  air  of  room-enough,  and  free  if 
low  forms  of  human  nature,  which,  at  such  times,  makes 
bearable  all  that  would  otherwise  be  so  repulsive. 

But  when  we  come  to  the  girl  who  is  the  presiding 
deity,  or  rather  the  tutelary  angel  of  the  scene,  how  are 
all  discords  harmonized ;  how  all  its  latent  music  poured 
forth  !  It  is  a  portrait  from  the  life  —  it  has  the  mystic 
charm  of  fulfilled  reality,  how  far  beyond  the  fairest 
ideals  ever  born  of  thought !  Pure,  and  brilliantly 
blooming  as  the  flower  of  the  wilderness,  she,  in  like 
manner,  shares  while  she  sublimes  its  nature.    She  plays 


FORGIVE   AND   FORGET.  273 

round  the  most  vulgar  and  rude  beings,  gentle  and 
caressing,  yet  unsullied ;  m  her  wildness  there  is  nothing 
cold  or  savage ;  her  elevation  is  soft  and  warm.  Never 
have  we  seen  natural  religion  more  beautifully  expressed; 
never  so  well  discerned  the  influence  of  the  natural  nun, 
who  needs  no  veil  or  cloister  to  guard  from  profanation 
the  beauty  she  has  dedicated  to  God,  and  which  only 
attracts  human  love  to  hallow  it  into  the  divine. 

The  lonely  life  of  the  girl  after  the  death  of  her 
parents,  —  her  fearlessness,  her  gay  and  sweet  enjoy- 
ment of  nature,  her  intercourse  with  the  old  people  of 
the  neighborhood,  her  sisterly  conduct  towards  her 
"suitors,"  —  all  seem  painted  from  the  life:  but  the 
death-bed  scene  seems  borrowed  from  some  sermon,  and 
is  not  in  harmony  with  the  rest. 

In  this  connection  we  must  try  to  make  amends  for 
the  stupidity  of  an  earlier  notice  of  the  novel,  called 
"Margaret,  or  the  Real  and  Ideal,"  &;c.  At  the  time 
of  that  notice  we  had  only  looked  into  it  here  and  there, 
and  did  no  justice  to  a  work  full  of  genius,  profound  in 
its  meaning,  and  of  admirable  fidelity  to  nature  in  its 
details.  Since  then  we  have  really  read  it,  and  appre- 
ciated the  sight  and  representation  of  soul-realities ;  and 
we  have  lamented  the  long  delay  of  so  true  a  pleasure. 

A  fine  critic  said,  "  This  is  a  Yankee  novel ;  or  rather 
let  it  be  called  the  Yankee  novel,  as  nowhere  else  are  the 
thought  and  dialect  of  our  villages  really  represented." 
Another  discovered  that  it  must  have  been  written  in 
Maine,  by  the  perfection  with  which  peculiar  features  of 
scenery  there  are  described. 


^ 


274  MISCELLANIES. 

A  young  girl  could  not  sufficiently  express  her  delight 
at  the  simple  nature  with  which  scenes  of  childhood  are 
given,  and  especially  at  Margaret's  first  going  to  meet- 
ing. She  had  never  elsewhere  found  written  down  what 
she  had  felt. 

A  mature  reader,  one  of  the  most  spiritualized  and 
harmonious  minds  we  have  ever  met,  admires  the  depth 
and  fulness  in  which  the  workings  of  the  spirit  through 
the  maiden's  life  are  seen  by  the  author,  and  shown  to 
us;  but  laments  the  great  apparatus  with  which  the 
consummation  of  the  whole  is  brought  about,  and  the 
formation  of  a  new  church  and  state,  before  the  time  is 
yet  ripe,  under  the  banner  of  Mons.  Christi. 

But  all  these  voices,  among  those  most  worthy  to  be 
heard,  find  in  the  book  a  real  presence,  and  draw  from 
it  auspicious  omens  that  an  American  literature  is  pos- 
sible even  in  our  day,  because  there  are  already  in  the 
mind  here  existent  developments  worthy  to  see  the  light, 
gold-fishes  amid  the  moss  in  the  still  waters. 

For  ourselves,  we  have  been  most  charmed  with  the 
way  the  Real  and  Ideal  are  made  to  weave  and  shoot 
rays  through  one  another,  in  which  Margaret  bestows  on 
external  nature  what  she  receives  through  books,  and 
wins  back  like  gifts  in  turn,  till  the  pond  and  the 
mythology  are  alternate  sections  of  the  same  chapter. 
We  delight  in  the  teachings  she  receives  through  Chilion 
and  his  violin,  till  on  the  grave  of  "one  who  tried  to 
love  his  fellow-men"  grows  up  the  full  white  rose-flower 
of  her  life.     ThQ  ease  with  which  she  assimilates  the  city 


ELLEN:    OR,    FORGIVE   AND    FORGET.  275 

life  when  in  it,  making  it  a  part  of  her  imaginative  tapes- 
try, is  a  sign  of  the  power  to  which  she  has  grown. 

We  have  much  more  to  think  and  to  say  of  the  book, 
as  a  whole,  and  in  parts;  and  should  the  mood  and 
summer  leisure  ever  permit  a  familiar  and  intimate 
acquaintance  with  it,  we  trust  thej  will  be  both  thought 
and  said.  For  the  present,  we  will  only  add  that  it 
exhibits  the  same  state  of  things,  and  strives  to  point  out 
such  remedies  as  we  have  hinted  at  in  speaking  of  the 
little  book  which  heads  this  notice ;  itself  a  rude  char- 
coal sketch,  but  if  read  as  hieroglyphics  are,  pointing  to 
important  meanings  and  results. 


"COURRIER  DES  ETATS   UNIS. 

No  other  nation  can  hope  to  vie  with  the  French  in 
the  talent  of  communicating  information  with  ease, 
vivacity  and  consciousness.  They  must  always  be  the 
best  narrators  and  the  best  interpreters,  so  far  as  pre- 
senting a  clear  ^statement  of  outlines  goes.  Thus  they 
are  excellent  in  conversation,  lectures,  and  journalizing. 

After  we  know  all  the  news  of  the  day,  it  is  still 
pleasant  to  read  the  bulletin  of  the  ^^Courrier  des  Etats 
Uiiisy  We  rarely  agree  with  the  view  taken;  but  as  a 
summary  it  is  so  excellently  well  done,  every  topic  put 
in  its  best  place,  with  such  a  light  and  vigorous  hand, 
that  we  have  the  same  pleasure  we  have  felt  in  fairy 
tales,  when  some  person  under  trial  is  helped  by  a  kind 
fairy  to  sort  the  silks  and  feathers  to  their  different 
places,  till  the  glittering  confusion  assum'es  the  order,  — 
of  a  kaleidoscope. 

Then,  what  excellent  correspondents  they  have  in 
Paris  !  What  a  humorous  and  yet  clear  account  we 
have  before  us,  now,  of  the  Thiers  game !  We  have 
traced  Guizot  through  every  day  with  the  utmost  dis- 
tinctness, and  see  him  perfectly  in  the  sick-room.  Now, 
here  is  Thiers,  playing  with  his  chess-men,  Jesuits,  &c. 
A  hundred  clumsy  English  or  American  papers  could 


COURRIER   DES   ETATS   UNIS.  277 

not  make  the  present  crisis  in  Paris  so  clear  as  we  see  it 
in  the  glass  of  these  nimble  Frenchmen. 

Certainly  it  is  with  newspaper-writing  as  with  food ; 
the  English  and  Americans  have  as  good  appetites,  but 
do  not,  and  never  will,  know  so  well  how  to  cook  as  the 
French.  The  Parisian  correspondent  of  the  ^'Sclwellpost^^ 
also  makes  himself  merry  with  the  play  of  M.  Thiers. 
Both  speak  with  some  feeling  of  the  impressive  utter- 
ance of  Lamartine  in  the  late  debates.  The  Jesuits 
stand  their  ground,  but  there  is  a  wave  advancing  which 
will  not  fail  to  wash  away  what  ought  to  go,  —  nor  are 
its  roarings,  however  much  in  advance  of  the  wave  itself, 
to  be  misinterpreted  by  intelligent  ears.  The  world  is 
raising  its  sleepy  lids,  and  soon  no  organization  can 
exist  which  from  its  very  nature  interferes  in  any  way 
with  the  good  of  the  whole. 

In  Germany  the  terrors  of  the  authorities  are  more  and 
more  directed  against  the  communists.  They  are  very 
anxious  to  know  what  communism  really  is,  or  means. 
They  have  almost  forgotten,  says  the  correspondent,  the 
repression  of  the  Jews,  and  like  objects,  in  this  new  terror. 
Meanwhile,  the  llussian  Emperor  has  issued  an  edict, 
commanding  the  Polish  Jews,  ^  both  men  and  women,  to 
lay  aside  their  national  garb.  He  hopes  thus  to  mingle 
them  with  the  rest  of  the  mass  he  moves.  It  will  be 
seen  whether  such  work  can  be  done  by  beginning  upon 
the  outward  man. 

The  Paris  correspondent  of  the  '•^Courrier^^^  who  gives 
an  account  of  amusements,  has  always  many  sprightly 
passages  illustrative  of  the  temper  of  the  times.  Horse- 
24     ' 


278  MISCELLANIES. 

races  are  now  the  fashion,  in  which  he  rejoices,  as  being 
likelj  to  give  to  France  good  horses  of  her  own.  A 
famous  lottery  is  on  the  point  of  coming  oflf. —  to  give  an 
organ  to  the  Church  of  St.  Eustache. —  on  which  it  does 
not  require  a  v^rj  high  tone  of  morals  to  be  severe.  A 
public  exhibition  has  been  made  of  the  splendid  array  of 
prizes,  including  every  article  of  luxury,  from  jewels 
and  cashmere  shawls  down  to  artificial  flowers. 

A  nobleman,  president  of  the  Horticultural  Society, 
had  given  an  entertainment,  in  which  the  part  of  the  dif- 
ferent flowers  was  acted  by  beautiful  women,  that  of  fruit 
and  vegetables  by  distinguished  men.  Such  an  amuse- 
ment would  admit  of  much  light  grace  and  wit,  which 
may  still  be  found  in  France,  if  anywhere  in  the  world. 

There  is  also  an  amusing  story  of  the  stir  caused 
among  the  French  political  leaders  by  the  visit  of  a  noble- 
man of  one  of  the  great  English  families,  to  Paris.  "  He 
had  had  several  audiences,  previous  to  his  departure  from 
London,  of  Queen  Victoria ;  he  received  a  despatch  daily 
from  the  English  court.  But  in  reply  to  all  overtures 
made  to  induce  him  to  open  his  mission,  he  preserved  a 
gloomy  silence.  All  attentions,  all  signs  of  willing  con- 
fidence, are  lavished  on  him  in  vain.  France  is  troubled. 
^  Has  England,'  thought  she,  '  a  secret  from  us,  while  we 
have  none  from  her  ?  '  She  was  on  the  point  of  invent- 
ing one,  when,  lo  !  the  secret  mission  turns  out  to  be  the 
preparation  of  a  ball-dress,  with  whose  elegance,  fresh 
from  Parisian  genius,  her  Britannic  majesty  wished  to 
dazzle  and  surprise  her  native  realm." 

'T  is  a  pity  Americans  cannot  learn  the  grax5e  which 


COURRIER   DES   ETATS  TJNIS.  279 

decks  these  trifling  jests  with  so  much  prettiness.  Till 
we  can  import  something  of  that,  we  have  no  right  to 
rejoice  in  French  fashions  and  French  wines.  Such  a 
nervous,  driving  nation  as  we  are,  ought  to  learn  to  B.y 
along  gracefully,  on  the  light,  fantastic  toe.  Can  we  not 
learn  something  of  the  English  beside  the  knife  and  fork 
conventionalities  which,  with  them,  express  a  certain 
solidity  of  fortune  and  resolve  ?  Can  we  not  get  from 
the  French  something  beside  their  worst  novels  ? 


"  COURRIER  DES  ETATS  UNIS." 

OUR  PROTEGEE,  QUEEN  VICTORIA. 

The  Courrier  laughs,  though  with  features  somewhat 
too  disturbed  for  a  graceful  laugh,  at  a  notice,  published 
a  few  days  since  in  the  Trihmie^  of  one  of  its  jests  Avhich 
scandalized  the  American  editor.  It  does  not  content 
itself  with  a  slight  notice,  but  puts  forth  a  manifesto,  in 
formidably  large  type,  in  reply. 

With  regard  to  the  jest  itself,  we  must  remark  that 
Mr.  Greeley  saw  this  only  in  a  translation,  where  it  had 
lost  whatever  of  light  and  graceful  in  its  manner  excused 
a  piece  of  raillery  very  coarse  in  its  substance.  We  will 
admit  that,  had  he  seen  it  as  it  originally  stood,  connected 
with  other  items  in  the  playful  chronicle  of  Pierre  Du- 
rand,  it  would  have  impressed  him  differently. 

But  the  cause  of  irritation  in  the  Courrier^  and  of  the 
sharp  repartees  of  its  manifesto,  is,  probably,  what  was 
said  of  the  influence  among  us  of  "  French  literature 
and  French  morals,"  to  which  the  "  organ  of  the  French- 
American  population  "  felt  called  on  to  make  a  spirited 
reply,  and  has  done  so  with  less  of  wit  and  courtesy  than 
could  have  been  expected  from  the  organ  of  a  people  who, 
whatever  may  be  their  faults,  are  at  least  acknowledged 
in  wit  and  courtesy  preeminent.  We  hope  that  the  French 
who  comelo~us~will  not  become,  in  these  respects,  Ameri- 


COURRIER   DES   ETATS  UNIS.  281 

canized,  and  substitute  the  easy  sneer,  and  use  of  such 
terms  as  "ridiculous,"  "virtuous  misanthropy,"  &c.,  for 
the  graceful  and  poignant  raillery  of  their  native  land, 
which  tickles  even  where  it  wounds. 

"VYe  may  say,  in  reply  to  the  Courrier^  that  if  Fourier- 
ism  "recoils  towards  a  state  of  nature,"  it  arises  largely 
from  the  fact  that  its  author  lived  in  a  country  where  the 
natural  relations  are,  if  not  more  cruelly,  at  least  more 
lightly  violated,  than  in  any  other  of  the  civilized  world. 

i  The  marriage  of  convention  has  done  its  natural  office  in 
sapping  the  morals  of  France,  till  breach  of  the  marriage 
vow  has  become  one  of  the  chief  topics  of  its  daily  wit, 
one  of  the  acknowledged  traits  of  its  manners,  and  a 
favorite  —  in  these  modern  times  we  might  say  the 
favorite  —  subject  of  its  works  of  fiction.  From  the  time 
of  Moliere,  himself  an  agonized  sufferer  behind  his  comic 
mask  from  the  infidelities  of  a  wife  he  was  not  able  to 

vcease  to  love,  through  memoirs,  novels,  dramas,  and  the 
volleyed  squibs  of  the  press,  one  fact  stares  us  in  the 
face  as  one  of  so  common  occurrence,  that  men,  if  they 
have  not  ceased  to  suffer  in  heart  and  morals  from  its 
poisonous  action,  have  yet  learned  to  bear  with  a  shrug 
and  a  careless  laugh  that  marks  its  frequency.  Under- 
stand, we  do  not  say  that  the  French  are  the  most  deeply 
stained  with  vice  of  all  nations.  We  do  not  think  them 
so.  There  are  others  where  there  is  as  much,  but  there 
is  none  where  it  is  so  openly  acknowledged  in  literature, 
and  therefore  there  is  none  whose  literature  alone  is  so 
likely  to  deprave  inexperienced  minds,  by  familiarizing 
them  with  wickedness  before  they  have  known  the  lure 
24* 


282  MISCELLANIES. 

and  the  shock  of  passion.  And  we  believe  that  this  is 
the  very  worst  way  for  youth  to  be  misled,  since  the 
miasma  thus  pervades  the  whole  man,  and  he  is  corrupted 
in  head  and  heart  at  once,  without  one  strengthening 
effort  at  resistance. 

Were  it  necessary,  we  might  substantiate  what  we  say 
by  quoting  from  the  Courrier  within  the  last  fortnight, 
jokes  and  stories  such  as  are  not  to  be  found  so  fre- 
quently in  the  prints  of  any  other  nation.  There  is  the 
story  of  the  girl  Adelaide,  which,  at  another  time,  we 
mean  to  quote,  for  its  terrible  pathos.  There  is  a  man 
on  trial  for  the  murder  of  his  wife,  of  whom  the  witnesses 
say,  "  he  was  so  fond  of  her  you  would  never  have  known 
she  was  his  wife  !  "  Here  is  one,  only  yesterday,  where 
a  man  kills  a  woman  to  whom  he  was  married  by  his 
relatives  at  eighteen,  she  being  much  older,  and  disagree- 
able to  him,  but  their  properties  matching.  After  twelve 
years'  marriage,  he  can  no  longer  support  the  yoke,  and 
kills  both  her  and  her  father,  and  "his  only  regret  is 
that  he  cannot  kill  all  who  had  anything  to  do  with  the 
match.'' 

Either  infidelity  or  such  crimes  are  the  natural  result 
of  marriages  made  as  they  are  in  France,  by  agreement 
between  the  friends,  without  choice  of  the  parties.  It  is 
this  horrible  system,  and  not  a  native  incapacity  for  pure 
and  permanent  relations,  that  leads  to  such  results.  j 

We  must  observe,  en  passant,  that  this  man  was  the 
father  of  five  children  by  this  hated  woman — a  wickedness 
not  peculiar  to  France  or  any  nation,  and  which  cannot 
fail  to  do  its  work  of  filling  the  world  with  sickly,  weak, 


COURRIER   DES   ETATS  UXIS.  283 

or  depraved  beings,  who  have  reason  to  curse  their  brutal 
father  that  he  does  not  murder  them  as  well  as  their 
wretched  mother,  —  who,  more  unhappy  than  the  victim 
of  seduction,  is  made  the  slave  of  sense  in  the  name  of 
religion  and  law. 

The  last  steamer  brinors  us  news  of  the  diso-race  of 

o  o 

Victor  Hugo,  one  of  the  most  celebrated  of  the  literary 
men  of  France,  and  but  lately  created  one  of  her  peers. 
The  affair,  however,  is  to  be  publicly  "  hushed  up.'' 

But  we  need  not  cite  many  instances  to  prove,  what  is 
known  to  the  whole  world,  that  these  wrongs  are,  if  not 
more  frequent,  at  least  more  lightly  treated  by  the 
French,  in  literature  and  discourse,  than  by  any  nation 
of  Europe.  This  being  the  case,  can  an  American,  anx- 
ious that  his  country  should  receive,  as  her  only  safe- 
guard from  endless  temptations,  good  moral  instruction 
and  mental  food,  be  otherwise  than  grieved  at  the  pro- 
miscuous introduction  amonoj  us  of  their  writinors  ? 

We  know  that  there  are  in  France  good  men,  pure  books, 
true  wit.  But  there  is  an  immensity  that  is  bad,  and 
more  hurtful  to  our  farmers,  clerks  and  country  milliners, 
than  to  those  to  whose  tastes  it  was  originally  addressed. — - 
as  the  small-pox  is  most  fatal  among  the  wild  men  of  the 
woods, — and  this,  from  the  unprincipled  cupidity  of  pub- 
lishers,  is  broad-cast  recklessly  over  all  the  land  we  had 
hoped  would  become  a  healthy  asylum  for  those  before 
crippled  and  tainted  by  hereditary  abuses.  This  cannot 
be  prevented ;  we  can  only  make  head  against  it,  and 
show  that  there  is  really  another  way  of  thinking  and 
living, — ay,  and  another  voice  for  it  in  the  world.     We 


284  MISCELLANIES. 

are  naturally  on  the  alert,  and  if  we  sometimes  start  too 
quickly,  tli^t  is  better  than  to  play  "  Le  noir  Faine- 
ant''—  (The  Black  Sluggard) . 

We  are  displeased  at  the  unfeeling  manner  in  which 
the  Cour7'ler  speaks  of  those  whom  he  calls  our  models. 
He  did  not  misunderstand  us^  and  some  things  he  says 
on  this  subject  deserve  and  suggest  a  retort  that  would 
be  bitter.  But  we  forbear,  because  it  would  injure  the 
innocent  with  the  guilty.  The  Conrrier  ranks  the  editor 
of  the  Trihune  among  ''  the  men  who  have  undertaken 
an  ineffectual  struggle  against  the  perversities  of  this 
lower  world."  By  ineffectual  we  presume  he  means 
that  it  has  never  succeeded  in  exiling  evil  from  this  lower 
world.  We  are  proud  to  be  ranked  among  the  band  of 
those  who  at  least,  in  the  ever-memorable  words  of  Scrip- 
ture, have  '^  done  what  they  could  "  for  this  purpose. 
To  this  band  belong  all  good  men  of  all  countries,  and 
France  has  contributed  no  small  contingent  of  those 
whose  purpose  was  noble,  whose  lives  were  healthy,  and 
w^hose  minds,  even  in  their  lightest  moods,  pure.  We 
are  better  pleased  to  act  as  sutler  or  pursuivant  of  this 
band,  whose  strife  the  Courrier  thinks  so  impuissante, 
than  to  reap  the  rewards  of  efficiency  on  the  other  side. 
There  is  not  too  much  of  this  salt,  in  proportion  to  the 
whole  mass  that  needs  to  be  salted,  nor  are  "  occasional 
accesses  of  virtuous  misanthropy  "  the  worst  of  maladies 
in  a  world  that  affords  such  abundant  occasion  for  it. 

In  fine,  we  disclaim  all  prejudice  against  the  French 
nation.  We  feel  assured  that  all,  or  almost  all,  impartial 
minds  will  acquiese  in  what  we  say  as  to  the  tone  of  lax 


COTJRRIER  DES  ETATS  UNIS.  285 

morality,  in  reference  to  marriage,  so  common  in  their 
literature.  We  do  not  like  it,  in  joke  or  in  earnest ; 
neither  are  we  of  those  to  whom  vice  "  loses  most  of  its 
deformity  by  losing  all  its  grossness."  If  there  be 
a  deep  and  ulcerated  wound,  we  think  the  more  "  the 
richly-embroidered  veil  "  is  torn  away  the  better.  Such 
a  deep  social  wound  exists  in  France  ;  we  wish  its  cure, 
as  we  wish  the  health  of  all  nations  and  of  all  men ;  so 
far  indeed  would  we  "  recoil  towards  a  state  of  nature." 
We  believe  that  nature  wills  marriage  and  parentage  to  be 
kept  sacred.  The  fact  of  their  not  being  so  is  to  us  not  a 
pleasant  subject  of  jest ;  and  we  should  really  pity  the  first 
lady  of  England  for  injury  here,  though  she  be  a  queen  ; 
while  the  ladies  of  the  French  court,  or  of  Parisian  so- 
ciety, if  they  willingly  lend  themselves  to  be  the  subject 
of  this  style  of  jest,  or  find  it  agreeable  when  made,  must 
be  to  us  the  cause  both  of  pity  and  disgust.  We  are  nol 
unaware  of  the  great  and  beautiful  qualities  native  to  the 
French — of  their  chivalry,  their  sweetness  of  temper,  their  j 
rapid,  brilliant  and  abundant  genius.  We  would  wish  to- 
see  these  qualities  restored  to  their  native  lustre,  and  not 
receive  the  base  alloy  which  has  long  stained  the  virgin- 
ity of  the  gold. 


ON   BOOKS  OP   TRAYEL.=^ 

^  *  ^  *  ^  -^  ^MONG  those  we  have, 
the  bestj  as  to  observation  of  particulars  and  lively 
expression,  are  by  women.  Thej  are  generally  ill 
prepared  as  regards  previous  culture,  and  their  scope  is 
necessarily  narrower  than  that  of  men,  but  their  tact  and 
quickness  help  them  a  great  deal.  You  can  see  their 
minds  grow  by  what  they  feed  on,  when  they  travel. 
There  are  many  books  of  travel,  by  women,  that  are,  at 
least,  entertaining,  and  contain  some  penetrating  and  just 
observations.  There  has,  however,  been  none  since 
Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montague,  with  as  much  talent, 
liveliness,  and  preparation  to  observe  in  various  ways,  as 
she  had. 

*  It  need  not  be  said,  probably,  that  Margaret  Fuller  did  not  think 
the  fact  that  books  of  travel  by  women  have  generally  been  piquant 
and  lively  rather  than  discriminating  and  instructive,  a  result  of 
their  nature,  and  therefore  unavoidable  ;  on  the  contrary,  she  regarded 
woman  as  naturally  more  penetrating  than  man,  and  the  fact  that  in 
journeying  she  would  see  more  of  home-life  than  he,  would  give  her 
a  great  advantage,  —  but  she  did  believe  woman  needed  a  wider  oul- 
tifre,  and  then  she  would  not  fail  to  excel  in  writing  books  of  travels. 
The  merits  now  in  such  works  she  considered  striking  and  due  to 
woman's  natural  quickness  and  availing  herself  of  all  her  facilities, 
and  any  deficiencies  simply  proved  the  need  of  a  broader  education.  — 
[Edit.] 


BOOKS   OF   TRAVEL.  287 

A  good  article  appeared  lately  in  one  of  the  English 
periodicals,  headed  by  a  long  list  of  travels  by  women. 
It  was  easy  to  observe  that  the  personality  of  the  writer 
was  the  most  obvious  thing  in  each  and  all  of  these 
books,  and  that,  even  in  the  best  of  them,  you  travelled 
with  the  writer  as  a  charming  or  amusing  companion, 
rather  than  as  an  accomplished  or  instructed  guide. 


REVIEW   OF   "MEMOIRS   AND  ESSAYS,  BY 
MRS.  JAMESON." 

Mrs.  Jameson  appejtrs  to  be  growing  more  and  more 
desperately  modest,  if  we  may  judge  from  the  motto : 

•'  What  if  the  little  rain  should  say, 
'  So  small  a  drop  as  I 
Can  ne'er  refresh  the  thirsty  plain, — 
I'll  tarry  in  the  sky  ? '  " 

and  other  superstitious  doubts  and  disclaimers  proffered 
in  the  course  of  the  volume.  We  thought  the  time  had 
gone  hj  when  it  was  necessary  to  plead  ''  request  of 
friends  "  for  printing,  and  that  it  was  understood  now-a- 
dajs  that,  from  the  facility  of  getting  thoughts  into 
print,  literature  has  become  not  merely  an  archive  for  the 
preservation  of  great  thoughts,  but  a  means  of  general 
communication  between  all  classes  of  minds,  and  all 
grades  of  culture. 

If  writers  write  much  that  is  good,  and  write  it  well, 
they  are  read  much  and  long ;  if  the  reverse,  people 
simply  pass  them  by,  and  go  in  search  of  what  is  more 
interesting.  There  needs  be  no  great  fuss  about  publish- 
ing or  not  publishing.  Those  who  forbear  may  rather 
be  considered  the  vain  ones,  who  wish  to  be  distinguished 


MRS.    JAMESON.  289 

among  the  crowd.  Especially  this  extreme  modesty  looks 
superfluous  in  a  person  who  knows  her  thoughts  have 
been  received  with  interest  for  ten  or  twelve  years  back. 
We  do  not  like  this  from  Mrs.  Jameson,  because  Ave  think 
she  would  be  amazed  if  others  spoke  of  her  as  this  little 
humble  flower,  doubtful  whether  it  ought  to  raise  its  head 
to  the  light.  She  should  leave  such  aftectations  to  her 
aunts  ;  they  were  the  fashion  in  their  day. 

It  is  very  true,  however,  that  she  should  7iot  have  pub- 
lished the  very  first  paragraph  in  her  book,  which  pre- 
sents an  inaccuracy  and  shallowness  of  thought  quite 
amazing  in  a  person  of  her  fine  perceptions,  talent  and 
culture.  We  allude  to  the  contrast  she  attempts  to  estab- 
lish between  Raphael  and  Titian,  in  placing  mind  in  con- 
tradistinction to  beauty,  as  if  beauty  were  merely  physi- 
cal. Of  course  she  means  no  such  thing ;  but  the  passage 
means  this  or  nothing,  and,  as  an  opening  to  a  paper  on 
art,  is  indeed  reprehensible  and  fallacious. 

The  rest  of  this  paper,  called  the  House  of  Titian,  is 
full  of  pleasant  chat,  though  some  of  the  judgments  —  that 
passed  on  Canaletti's  pictures,  for  instance  —  are  opposed 
to  those  of  persons  of  the  purest  taste  ;  and  in  other  re- 
spects, such  as  in  speaking  of  the  railroad  to  Venice,  Mrs. 
Jameson  is  much  less  wise  than  those  over  whom  she 
assumes  superiority.  The  railroad  will  destroy  Venice  ; 
the  two  things  cannot  coexist :  and  those  who  do  not  look 
upon  that  wondrous  dream  in  this  age,  will,  probably,  find 
only  vestiges  of  its  existence. 

The  picture  of  Adelaide  Kemble  is  very  pretty,  though 
there  is  an  attempt  of  a  sort  too  common  with  Mrs. 
25 

OF  THR     ^^^O!^ 


290  MISCELLANIES. 

Jameson  to  make  more  of  the  subject  than  it  deserves. 
Adelaide  Kemble  was  not  the  true  artist,  or  she  could  not 
so  sDon  or  so  lightly  have  stept  into  another  sphere.  It 
is  enough  to  paint  her  as  a  lovely  woman,  and  a  woman- 
genius.  The  true  artist  cannot  forswear  his  vocation ; 
Heaven  does  not  permit  it ;  the  attempt  makes  him  too 
unhappy,  nor  will  he  form  ties  with  those  who  can  con- 
sent to  such  sacrilege.  Adelaide  Kemble  loved  art,  but 
was  not  truly  an  artist. 

The  '-Xanthian  Marbles,"  and  ''Washington  AUston," 
are  very  pleasing  papers.  The  most  interesting  part, 
however,  are  the  sentences  copied  from  Mr.  Allston. 
These  have  his  chaste,  superior  tone.  We  copy  some  of 
them. 

"  What  light  is  in  the  natural  world,  such  is  fame  in 
the  intellectual,  —  both  requiring  an  atmosphere  in  order 
to  become  perceptible.  Hence  the  fame  of  Michel  Angelo 
is  to  some  minds  a  nonentity ;  even  as  the  Sun  itself 
would  be  invisible  in  vacuo ^ 

(A  very  pregnant  statement,  containing  the  true  reason 
why  "  no  man  is  a  hero  to  his  valet  de  chambre.") 

"  Fame  does  not  depend  on  the  will  of  any  man  ;  but 
reputation  may  be  given  and  taken  away ;  for  fame  is  the 
sympathy  of  kindred  intellects,  and  sympathy  is  not  a 
subject  of  willing  ;  while  reputation,  having  its  source  in 
the  popular  voice,  is  a  sentence  which  may  be  altered  or 
suppressed  at  pleasure.  Reputation,  being  essentially 
contemporaneous,  is  always  at  the  mercy  of  the  envious 
and  ignorant.  But  Fame,  whose  very  birth  is  posthu- 
mous, and  which  is  only  known  to  exist  by  the  echoes  of 


MRS.    JAMESON.  291 

its  footsteps  through  congenial  minds,  can  neither  be  in- 
creased nor  diminished  by  any  degree  of  wilfuLaess."' 

•'An  original  mind  is  rarely  understood  until  it  has 
been  reflected  from  some  half-dozen  congenial  with  it ;  so 
averse  are  men  to  admitting  the  true  in  an  unusual  form ; 
while  any  novelty,  how^ever  fantastic,  however  false,  is 
greedily  swallowed.  Nor  is  this  to  be  wondered  at,  for  all 
truth  demands  a  response,  and  few  people  care  to  think ^ 
yet  they  must  have  something  to  supply  the  place  of 
thought.  Every  mind  would  appear  original  if  every 
man  had  the  power  of  projecting  his  own  into  the  minds 
of  others." 

"  All  effort  at  originality  must  end  either  in  the  quaint 
or  monstrous  ;  for  no  man  knows  himself  as  an  original ; 
he  can  only  believe  it  on  the  report  of  others  to  whom  he 
is  made  known,  as  he  is  by  the  projecting  power  before 
spoken  of" 

"  There  is  an  essential  meanness  in  wishing  to  get  the 
better  of  any  one.  The  only  competition  worthy  of  a 
wise  man  is  with  himself" 

"  Reverence  is  an  ennobling  sentiment ;  it  is  felt  to  be 
degrading  only  by  the  vulgar  mind,  which  would  escape 
the  sense  of  its  own  littleness  by  elevating  itself  into  the 
antagonist  of  what  is  above  it." 

"He  that  has  no  pleasure  in  looking  up  is  not  fit  to 
look  down  ;  of  such  minds  are  the  mannerists  in  art,  and 
in  the  world  —  the  tyrants  of  all  sorts." 

"  Make  no  man  your  idol ;  for  the  best  man  must  have 
faults,  and  his  faults  will  naturally  become  yours,  in  addi- 
tion to  your  own.     This  is  as  true  in  art  as  in  morals." 


292  MISCELLANIES. 

''The  Devil  s  heartiest  laugh  is  at  a  detracting  witti- 
cism. Hence  the  phrase  '  devilish  good '  has  sometimes  a 
literal  meaning." 

"Woman's  Mission  and  Woman's  Position"  is  an  ex- 
cellent paper,  in  which  plain  truths  are  spoken  with  an 
honorable  straight-forwardness,  and  a  great  deal  of  good 
feeling.  We  despise  the  woman  who,  knowing  such 
facts,  is  afraid  to  speak  of  them ;  yet  we  honoj-  one,  too, 
who  does  the  plain  right  thing,  for  she  exposes  herself  to 
the  assaults  of  vulgarity,  in  a  way  painful  to  a  person  who 
has  not  strength  to  find  shelter  and  repose  in  her  motives. 
We  -recommend  this  paper  to  the  consideration  of  all 
those,  the  unthinking,  wilfully  unseeing  million,  who  are 
in  the  habit  of  talking  of  "  Woman's  sphere,"  as  if  it 
really  were,  at  present,  for  the  majority,  one  of  protec- 
tion, and  the  gentle  offices  of  home.  The  rhetorical 
gentlemen  and  silken  dames,  who,  quite  forgetting  their 
washerwomen,  their  seamstresses,  and  the  poor  hirelings 
for  the  sensual  pleasures  of  Man,  that  jostle  them  daily  in 
the  streets,  talk  as  if  women  need  be  fitted  for  no  other 
chance  than  that  of  growing  like  cherished  flowers  in  the 
garden  of  domestic  love,  are  requested  to  look  at  this 
paper,  in  which  the  state  of  women,  both  in  the  manufac- 
turing and  agricultural  districts  of  England,  is  exposed 
with  eloquence,  and  just  inferences  drawn. 

"  This,  then,  is  what  I  mean  when  I  speak  of  the 
anomalous  condition  of  women  in  these  days.  I  would 
point  out,  as  a  primary  source  of  incalculable  mischief,  the 
contradiction  between  her  assumed  and  her  real  position  ; 
between  what  is  called  her  proper  sphere  by  the  laws  of 


MRS.    JAMESON.  293 

God  and  Nature,  and  what  has  become  her  real  sphere  by 
the  laws  of  necessity,  and  through  the  complex  relations 
of  artificial  existence.  In  the  strong  language  of  Carljle, 
I  would  say  that  '  Here  is  a  lie  standing  up  in  the  midst 
of  society.'  I  would  say  '  Down  with  it,  even  to  the 
ground  ; '  for  while  this  perplexing  and  barbarous  anom- 
aly exists,  fretting  like  an  ulcer  at  the  very  heart  of 
society,  all  new  specifics  and  palliatives  are  in  vain.  The 
question  must  be  settled  one  way  or  another ;  either  let 
the  man  in  all  the  relations  of  life  be  held  the  natural 
guardian  of  the  woman,  constrained  to  fulfil  that  trust, 
responsible  in  society  for  her  well-being  and  her  mainten- 
ance ;  or,  if  she  be  liable  to  be  thrust  from  the  sanctuary 
of  home,  to  provide  for  herself  through  the  exercise  of 
such  faculties  as  God  has  given  her,  let  her  at  least  have 
fair  play ;  let  it  not  be  avowed  in  the  same  breath  that 
protection  is  necessary  to  her,  and  that  it  is  refused  her ; 
and  while  we  send  her  forth  into  the  desert,  and  bind  the 
burthen  on  her  back,  and  put  the  stafi"  in  her  hand,  let 
not  her  steps  be  beset,  her  limbs  fettered,  and  her  eyes 
blindfolded."     Amen. 

The  sixth  and  last  of  these  papers,  on,  the  relative 
social  position  of  "mothers  and  governesses,"  exhibits  in 
true  and  full  colors  a  state  of  things  in  England,  beside 
which  the  custom  in  some  parts  of  China  of  drowning 
female  infants  looks  mild,  generous,  and  refined ;  —  an 
accursed  state  of  things,  beneath  whose  influence  nothing 
can,  and  nothing  ought  to  thrive.  Though  this  paper,  of 
which  we  have  not  patience  to  speak  further  at  this 
moment,  is  valuable  from  putting  the  facts  into  due  relief, 
25* 


294  MISCELLANIES. 

it  is  very  inferior  to  the  other,  and  shows  the  want  of 
thoroughness  and  depth  in  Mrs.  Jameson's  intellect.  She 
has  taste,  feeling  and  knowledge,  but  she  cannot  think 
out  a  subject  thoroughly,  and  is  unconsciously  tainted  and 
hampered  by  conventionalities.  Her  advice  to  the  gov- 
ernesses reads  like  a  piece  of  irony,  but  we  believe  it  was 
not  meant  as  such.  Advise  them  to  be  burnt  at  the  stake 
at  once,  rather  than  submit  to  this  slow  process  of  petri- 
faction. She  is  as  bad  as  the  Reports  of  the  "  Society  for 
the  relief  of  distressed  and  dilapidated  Governesses."  We 
have  no  more  patience.  We  must  go  to  England  our- 
selves, and  see  these  victims  under  the  water  torture.  Till 
then,  a  Dieu ! 


WOMAN'S  INFLUENCE  OVER  THE  INSANE. 

In  refef  ence  to  what  is  said  of  entrusting  an  infant  to 
the  insane,  we  must  relate  a  little  tale  which  touched  the 
heart  in  childhood  from  the  eloquent  lips  of  the  mother. 

The  minister  of  the  village  had  a  son  of  such  uncommon 
powers  that  the  slender  means  on  which  the  large  family 
lived  were  strained  to  the  utmost  to  send  him  to  college. 
The  boy  prized  the  means  of  study  as  only  those  under 
such  circumstances  know  how  to  prize  them  ;  indeed. far 
beyond  their  real  worth ;  since,  by  excessive  study,  pro- 
longed often  at  the  expense  of  sleep,  he  made  himself 
insane. 

All  may  conceive  the  feelings  of  the  family  when  their 
star  returned  to  them  again,  shorn  of  its  beams  i  their 
pride,  their  hard-earned  hope,  sunk  to  a  thing  so  hopeless, 
so  helpless,  that  there  could  be  none  so  poor  to  do  him  rev- 
erence. But  they  loved  him,  and  did  what  the  ignorance 
of  the  time  permitted.  There  was  little  provision  then  for 
the  treatment  of  such  cases,  and  what  there  was  was  of  a 
kind  that  they  shrunk  from  resorting  to,  if  it  could  be 
avoided.  They  kept  him  at  home,  giving  him,  during 
the  first  months,  the  freedom  of  the  house ;  but  on  his 
making  an  attempt  to  kill  his  father,  and  confessing  after- 
wards that  hi3  old  veneration  had,  as  is  so  often  the  case 


296  MISCEI-LANIES. 

in  these  affections,  reacted  morbidly  to  its  opposite,  so 
that  he  never  saw  a  once-loved  parent  turn  his  back 
without  thinking  how  he  could  rush  upon  him  and  do  him 
an  injury,  they  felt  obliged  to  use  harsher  measures,  and 
chained  him  to  a  post  in  one  room  of  the  house. 

There,  so  restrained,  without  exercise  or  proper  medi- 
cine, the  fever  of  insanity  came  upon  him  in  its  wildest 
form.  He  raved,  shrieked,  struck  about  him,  and  tore 
off  all  the  raiment  that  was  put  upon  him. 

One  of  his  sisters,  named  Lucy,  whom  he  had  most 
loved  when  well,  had  now  power  to  soothe  him.  He 
would  listen  to  her  voice,  and  give  way  to  a  milder  mood 
when  she  talked  or  sang.  But  this  favorite  sister  mar- 
ried, went  to  her  new  home,  and  the  maniac  beoame 
wilder,  more  violent  than  ever. 

After  two  or  three  years,  she  returned,  bringing  with 
her  an  infant.  She  went  into  the  room  where  the  naked, 
blaspheming,  raging  object  was  confined.  He  knew  her 
instantly,  and  felt  joy  at  seeing  her. 

^'  But,  Lucy,"  said  he,  suddenly,  "  is  that  your  baby 
you  have  in  your  arms  ?  Give  it  to  me,  I  want  to  hold 
it !  " 

A  pang  of  dread  and  suspicion  shot  through  the  young 
mother's  heart,  —  she  turned  pale  and  faint.  Her  brother 
was  not  at  that  moment  so  mad  that  he  could  not  under- 
stand her  fears. 

''  Lucy,"  said  he,  "  do  you  suppose  I  would  hurt  your 
child?''* 

His  sister  had  strength  of  mind  and  of  heart ;  she  could 
not  resist  the  appeal,  and  hastily  placed  the  child  in  his 


THE  INSANE.  297 

arms.  Poor  fellow  !  he  held  it  awhile,  stroked  its  little 
face,  and  melted  into  tears,  the  first  he  had  shed  since  his 
insanity. 

For  some  time  after  that  he  was  better,  and  probably, 
had  he  been  under  such  intelligent  care  as  may  be  had  at 
present,  the  crisis  might  have  been  followed  up,  and  a 
favorable  direction  given  to  his  disease.  But  the  subject 
was  not  understood  then,  and,  having  once  fallen  mad,  he 
was  doomed  to  live  and  die  a  madman. 


THE  DEAP   AND   DUMB.* 

It  has  been  remarked  of  the  deaf  and  dumb  that 
they  have,  frequently,  a  purity  and  religious  fervor  of 
expression,  as  if  they  were  kept  in  a  better  state  by 
remaining  ignorant  of  a  large  portion  of  the  wicked 
and  mean  things  that  fly  from  tongue  to  tongue  in 
common  society.  No  less  observable  is  an  uncommon 
vivacity  of  eye  when  the  thoughts  have  once  been 
awakened,  which  seems  to  say  that  the  mind  only 
vindicates  its  powers  the  more,  from  being  necessarily 
more  introverted  than  with  others. 

This  fact  and  the  unusual  education  of  the  whole 
person,  especially  the  hands,  from  the  habit  of  using 
the  language  of  signs,  must  ever  make  the  society  of 
the  deaf  and  dumb  deeply  interesting  to  those  who 
are  capable  of  thought  and  observation.  They  pre- 
sent, indeed,  the  most  interesting  subject  for  the  study 
of  the  metaphysician  and  philologist,  and  we  are  sur- 
prised that  no  more  use  has  been  made  of  it.  The 
single  fact  that  they  think  in  signs,  not  words,  opens  vol- 
umes of  speculation. 

Their  minds  come  to  ours  with  the  freshness  of  for- 
eigners, while,  at  the  same   time,  by  community  of 

*  Twenty-Seventh  Annual  Report  and  Documents  of  the  New  York 
Institution  for  the  Instruction  of  the  Deaf  and  Dumb,  to  the  Legislature 
of  the  State  of  New  York. 


MISCELLANIES.  299 

many  circumstances  in  climate,  constitution,  etc.,  we 
may  establish  an  intimate  connection  with  them,  and 
win  the  full  benefit  of  their  impressions  as  we  cannot 
from  a  foreigner. 

It  is  obvious  how  favorable  this  state  of  the  deaf 
and  dumb  must  be  to  the  original  poetic  elements  of 
language,  to  the  use  of  likenesses  or  images,  and  the 
direct  expression  of  simple  feelings.  Their  style  is 
naturally  a  ballad  style,  and  reveals  secrets  that 
seemed  lost  with  the  cradle  of  humanity.  We  have 
never  seen  any  book  more  significant  in  this  way  tlian 
a  little  English  collection  of  prayers  by  deaf  and 
dumb  boys  at  a  private  school  founded  by  some  lady, 
who  represented  to  them,  as  the  saints  Theresa,  Rosa- 
lia, and  Cecilia  do  to  the  Catholic,  the  ideal  of  all 
that  is  peculiarly  lovely  and  excellent  in  woman. 
The  description  of  moods  of  mind  by  these  boys,  the 
correspondences  discerned  between  their  own  lives 
and  the  forms  of  nature,  the  swelling  lyric  sweetness 
with  which  their  aspirations  are  expressed,  belong  to 
the  highest,  simplest  state  of  poesy. 

It  is  from  considerations  like  these  that  we  look 
with  deep  interest  on  this  important  institution,  no 
less  than  from  joy  at  goodness  and  justice  manifested 
towards  a  portion  of  our  race  less  favored  by  nature 
than  the  rest.  But,  indeed,  in  this  view,  we  cannot 
be  too  grateful  to  see  so  many  relieved  from  the  tor- 
tures of  suspicion  and  the  phantoms  of  doubt  which 
beset  the  uneducated  deaf  mute. 

The  following  letter  from  a  young  deaf  and  dumb 
child  may  be  deemed  by  some  too  childish  for  so  grave 
a  place  as  this  ;  but  we  must  give  it  as  an  instance 


300  THE   DEAF    AND    DUMB. 

of  how  much  pure  happiness  may  be  afforded  by  a  lit- 
tle act  of  thoughtful  kindness.  We  should,  for  our 
own  part,  prefer  being  the  giver  of  the  '  sweet  kitten ' 
to  almost  any  office  in  the  gift  of  the  State  of  New 
York.  Blessed  be  the  charities  of  daily  life !  These 
little  flowers  have,  indeed,  a  chance  to  bloom  and 
bless  ;  they  lie  too  low  to  be  destroyed  by  the  sudden 
blast  that  cuts  sheer  off  the  tops  of  the  loftiest  trees. 
None  so  poor  that  he  cannot  bring  cheer  to  the  for- 
saken, for  a  rush  candle  is  more  cheering  even  than  a 
star  to  the  benighted  wanderer  ;  and  none  so  power- 
less that  he  cannot  confer  on  a  childish  heart  a  kingly 
gift  of  unalloyed  felicity  such  as  is  portrayed  in  these 
lines  :  — 

"  The  Kitten.  —  Some  years  ago,  on  Sunday,  my 
brother,  and  sister-in-law,  and  myself  went  to  our 
friends  to  visit  them.  My  sister-in-law's  parents  gave 
me  a  pretty  kitten.  I  was  very  glad.  They  and  my- 
self staid  till  six  o'clock.  They  and  myself  came  to 
home  in  the  wagon.  I  sat  on  a  little  bench  with  the 
kitten,  which  slept  on  my  lap.  At  night  they  and 
myself  arrived  at  home.  I  carried  my  sweet  kitten, 
and  walked  through  the  gate,  while  I  thought  that  I 
would  take  care  good  of  my  kitten.  Then  I  opened 
my  father's  door,  entered,  and  saw  my  brother.  He 
asked  me  is  the  kitten  yours  ?  I  answered  yes,  it  is 
mine.  Sometimes  I  told  my  sister  that  she  bring  me 
some  milk.  She  brought  me  some  milk  in  the  saucer. 
I  put  it  on  the  floor,  and  the  kitten  would  not  come 
to  drink  milk,  because  it  was  very  afraid.  I  was 
sorry.  The  next  day  I  carried  the  kitten  to  my 
brotlier's  house.     He  took  care  of  my  sweet  kitten." 


CHRISTMAS. 

Our  festivals  come  rather  too  near  together,  since  we 
have  so  few  of  them ;  —  Thanksgiving,  Chri&^mas-day, 
New-Years'-day,  and  then  none  again  till  July.  We  know 
not  but  these  four,  with  the  addition  of  a  "  day  set  apart 
for  fasting  and  prayer,"  might  answer  the  purposes  of 
rest  and  edification  as  well  as  a  calendar  full  of  saints' 
days,  if  they  were  observed  in  a  better  spirit.  But, 
Thanksgiving  is  devoted  to  good  dinners  ;  Christmas  and 
New- Years'  days  to  making  presents  and  compliments ; 
Fast-day  to  playing  at  cricket  and  other  games,  and  the 
Fourth  of  July  to  boasting  of  the  past,  rather  than  to  plans 
how  to  deserve  its  benefits  and  secure  its  fruits. 

We  value  means  of  marking  time  by  appointed  days, 
because  man,  on  one  side  of  his  nature  so  ardent  and 
aspiring,  is  on  the  other  so  indolent  and  slippery  a  being, 
that  he  needs  incessant  admonitions  to  redeem  the  time. 
Time  flows  on  steadily,  whether  he  regards  it  or  not 
yet,  unless  he  keep  time^  there  is  no  music  in  that  flow. 
The  sands  drop  with  inevitable  speed  ;  yet  each  waits  long 
enough  to  receive,  if  it  be  ready,  the  intellectual  touch 
that  should  turn  it  to  a  sand  of  gold. 

Time,  says  the  Grecian  fable,  is  the  parent  of  Power. 
Power  is  the  father  of  Genius  and  Wisdom.    Time,  then, 
is  grandfather  of  the  noblest  of  -the  human  family ;  and 
26 


302  MISCELLANIES. 

we  must  respect  the  aged  sire  whom  we  see  on  the  fron- 
tispiece of  the  almanacs,  and  believe  his  scjthe  was 
meant  to  mow  down  harvests  ripened  for  an  immortal 
use. 

Yet  the  best  provision  made  by  the  mind  of  society  at 
large  for  these  admonitions  soon  loses  its  efficacy,  and 
requires  that  individual  earnestness,  individual  piety, 
should  continually  reinforce  the  most  beautiful  form. 
The  world  has  never  seen  arrangements  which  might  more 
naturally  offer  good  suggestions  than  those  of  the  Church 
of  Kome.  The  founders  of  that  church  stood  very  near 
a  history  radiant  at  every  page  with  divine  light.  All 
their  rites  and  ceremonial  days  illustrate  facts  of  an 
universal  interest.  But  the  life  with  which  piety  first, 
and  afterwards  the  genius  of  great  artists,  invested  these 
symbols,  waned  at  last,  except  to  a  thoughtful  few.  Rev- 
erence was  forgotten  in  the  multitude  of  genuflexions; 
the  rosary  became  a  string  of  beads  rather  than  a  series 
of  religious  meditations;  and  the  "glorious  company  of 
saints  and  martyrs  "  were  not  regarded  so  much  as  the 
teachers  of  heavenly  truth,  as  intercessors  to  obtain  for 
their  votaries  the  temporal  gifts  they  craved. 

Yet  we  regret  that  some  of  those  symbols  had  not  been 
more  reverenced  by  Protestants,  as  the  possible  occasion 
of  good  thoughts,  and,  among  others,  we  regret  that  the 
day  set  apart  to  commemorate  the  birth  of  Jesus  should 
have  been  stript,  even  by  those  who  observe  it,  of  many 
impressive  and  touching  accessories. 

If  ever  there  was  an  occasion  on  which  the  arts  could 
become  all  but  omnipotent  in  the  service  of  a  holy  thought, 


CHRISTMAS.  303 

it  is  this  of  the  birth  of  the  child  Jesus.  In  the  palmy 
days  of  the  Catholic  religion  they  may  \e  said  to  have 
wrought  miracles  in  its  behalf;  and  in  cur  colder  time, 
when  we  rather  reflect  that  light  from  a  different  point  of 
view  than  transport  ourselves  into  it,  who,  that  has  an  eye 
^nd  ear  faithful  to  the  soul,  is  not  conscious  of  inexhaust- 
ible benefits  from  some  of  the  works  by  which  sublime 
geniuses  have  expressed  their  ideas?  —  in  the  adorations 
of  the  Magi  and  the  Shepherds,  in  the  Virgin  with  the 
infant  Jesus,  or  that  work  which  expresses  what  Chris- 
tendom at  large  has  not  begun  to  realize, —  that  work 
which  makes  us  conscious,  as  we  listen,  why  the  soul  of 
man  was  thought  worthy  and  able  to  upbear  a  cross  of 
such  dreadful  weight, — the  Messiah  of  Handel. 

Christmas  would  seem  to  be  the  day  peculiarly  sacred 
to  children ;  and  something  of  this  feeling  is  beginning  to 
show  itself  among  us,  though  rather  from  German  influ- 
ence than  of  native  growth.  The  ever-green  tree  is  often 
reared  for  the  children  on  Christmas  evening,  and  its 
branches  cluster  with  little  tokens  that  may,  at  least,  give 
them  a  sense  that  the  world  is  rich,  and  that  there  are 
some  in  it  who  care  to  bless  them.  It  is  a  charming  sight 
to  see  their  glistening  eyes,  and  well  worth  much  trouble 
in  preparing  the  Christmas-tree. 

Yet,  on  this  occasion,  as  on  all  others,  we  should  like  to 
see  pleasure  offered  to  them  in  a  form  less  selfish  than  it 
is.  When  shall  we  read  of  banquets  prepared  for  the 
halt,  the  lame,  and  the  blind,  on  the  day  that  is  said  to 
have  brought  their  friend  into  the  world  ?  When  will 
children  be  taught  to  ask  all  the  cold  and  i^aggc  i  little 


304  MISCELLANIES. 

ones  "whom  they  have  seen  during  the  daj  wistfully  gazing 
at  the  shop-windows,  to  share  the  joys  of  Christmas-eve  ? 

We  borrow  the  Christmas-tree  from  Germany ;  might 
we  but  borrow  with  it  that  feeling  which  pervades  all 
their  stories,  about  the  influence  of  the  Christ-child,  and 
has,  I  doubt  not  (for  the  spirit  of  literature  is  always, 
though  refined,  the  essence  of  popular  life),  pervaded  the 
conduct  of  children  there. 

We  will  mention  two  of  these  as  happily  expressive  of 
different  sides  of  the  desirable  character.  One  is  a  legend 
of  the  saint  Hermann  Joseph.  The  legend  runs  that  this 
saint,  v/hen  a  little  boy,  passed  daily  by  a  niche  where 
was  an  image  of  the  Virgin  and  Child,  and  delighted  there 
to  pay  his  devotions.  His  heart  was  so  drawn  towards 
the  holy  child  that  one  day,  having  received  what  seemed 
to  him  a  gift  truly  precious,  a  beautiful  red  and  yellow 
apple,  he  ventured  to  offer  it,  with  his  prayer.  To  his 
unspeakable  delight  the  child  put  forth  his  hand  and  took 
the  apple.  After  that  day,  never  was  a  gift  bestowed 
upon  the  little  Hermann,  that  was  not  carried  to  the 
same  place.  He  needed  nothing  for  himself,  but  dedi- 
cated all  his  childish  goods  to  the  altar. 

After  a  while  he  was  in  trouble.  His  father,  who 
was  a  poor  man,  found  it  necessary  to  take  him  from 
school,  and  bind  him  to  a  trade.  He  communicated  his 
woes  to  his  friends  of  the  niche,  and  the  Virgin  comforted 
him  like  a  mother,  and  bestowed  on  him  money,  by  means 
of  which  he  rose  to  be  a  learned  and  tender  Shepherd  of 
men. 

Another  still  more  touching  story  is  that  of  the  holy 


CHRISTMAS.  305 


Rupert.  Rupert  was  the  only  child  of  a  princely  house, 
and  had  something  to  give  besides  apples.  But  his 
generosity  and  human  love  were  such  that,  as  a  child,  he 
could  never  see  poor  children  suffering  without  despoiling 
himself  of  all  he  had  with  him  in  their  behalf  His 
mother  was,  at  first,  displeased  with  this ;  but  when  he 
replied,  "  They  are  thy  children  too,"'  her  reproofs  yielded 
to  tears. 

One  time,  when  he  had  given  away  his  coat  to  a  poor 
child,  he  got  wearied  and  belated  on  his  homeward  way. 
He  lay  down  a  while  and  fell  asleep.  Then  he  dreamed 
that  he  was  on  a  river-shore,  and  saw  a  mild  and  noble 
old  man  bathing  many  children.  After  he  had  plunged 
them  into  the  water,  he  would  place  them  on  a  beautiful 
island,  where  they  looked  white  and  glorious  as  little 
angels.  Rupert  was  seized  with  a  strong  desire  to  join 
them,  and  beoj^ed  the  old  man  to  bathe  him  also  in  the 
stream.  But  he  was  answered,  "It  is  not  yet  time." 
Just  then  a  rainbow  spanned  the  island,  and  in  its  arch 
was  enthroned  the  child  Jesus,  dressed  in  a  coat  that 
Rupert  knew  to  be  his  own.  And  the  child  said  to  the 
others,  "See  this  coat;  it  is  one  which  my  brother 
Rupert  has  just  sent  to  me.  He  has  given  us  many  gifts 
from  his  love  ;  shall  we  not  ask  him  to  join  us  here?  " 
And  they  shouted  a  musical  "  Yes  ! "  and  Rupert  started 
out  of  his  dream.  But  he  had  lain  too  long  on  the  damp 
bank  of  the  river  without  his  coat,  and  cold  and  fever 
soon  sent  him  to  join  the  band  of  his  brothers  in  their 
home. 

These  are  legends,  superstitious,  you  will  say.  But, 
26* 


306  MISCELLANIES. 

in  casting  aside  the  shell,  have  we  retained  the  kernel  ? 
The  image  of  the  child  Jesus  is  not  seen  in  the  open 
street.  Does  his  heart  find  other  means  to  express  itself 
there?  Protestantism  does  not  mean,  we  suppose,  to 
deaden  the  spirit  in  excluding  the  fonn. 

The  thought  of  Jesus,  as  a  child,  has  great  weight 
with  children  who  have  learned  to  think  of  him  at  all. 
In  thinking  of  him  they  form  an  image  of  all  that  the 
morning  of  a  pure  and  fervent  life  should  be  and  bring. 

In  former  days  I  knew  a  boy-artist  whose  genius,  at 
that  time,  showed  high  promise.  He  was  not  more  than 
fourteen  years  old  —  a  pale,  slight  boy,  with  a  beaming 
eye.  The  hopes  and  sympathy  of  friends,  gained  by  his 
talent,  had  furnished  him  with  a  studio  and  orders  for 
some  pictures.  He  had  picked  up  from  the  streets  a  boy, 
still  younger  and  poorer  than  himself,  to  take  care  of  the 
room  and  prepare  his  colors,  and  the  two  boys  were  as 
content  in  their  relation  as  Michael  Angelo  with  his  Ur- 
bino.  If  you  went  there,  you  found  exposed  to  view 
many  pretty  pictures —  "  A  Girl  with  a  Dove,"  "  The 
Guitar-player,"  and  such  subjects  as  are  commonly  sup- 
posed to  interest  at  his  age.  But,  hid  in  a  corner,  and 
never  shown,  unless  to  the  beggar-page  or  some  most  con- 
fidential friend,  was  the  real  object  of  his  love  and  pride, 
the  slowly-growing  work  of  secret  hours.  The  suDJect 
of  this  picture  was  Christ  teaching  the  Doctors.  And  in 
those  doctors  he  had  expressed  all  he  had  already  observed 
of  the  pedantry  and  shallow  conceit  of  those  in  whom 
mature  years  have  not  unfolded  the  soul :  and  in  the 
child,  all  he  felt  that  early  youth  should  be  and  seek, 


CHRISTMAS.  307 

though,  alas!  his  own  feet  failed  him  on  the  difficult 
road.  This  one  record  of  the  youth  of  Jesus,  had,  at 
least,  been  much  to  his  mind. 

In  earlier  days  the  little  saints  thought  they  best  imi- 
tated the  Emanuel  by  giving  apples  and  cents  ;  but  we 
inow  not  why,  in  our  age,  that  esteems  itself  so  much 
enlightened,  they  should  not  become  also  the  givers  of 
spiritual  gifts.  We  see  in  them,  continually,  impulses 
that  only  require  a  good  direction  to  effect  infinite  good. 
See  the  little  girls  at  work  for  foreign  missions  ;  that  is 
not  useless ;  they  devote  the  time  to  a  purpose  that  is 
not  selfish ;  the  horizon  of  their  thoughts  is  extended. 
But  they  are  perfectly  capable  of  becoming  home-mis- 
sionaries as  well.  The  principle  of  stewardship  would 
make  them  so. 

I  have  seen  a  little  girl  of  thirteen,  who  had  much  ser- 
vice, too,  to  do  for  a  hard-working  mother,  in  the  midst 
of  a  circle  of  poor  children  whom  she  gathered  daily  to 
a  morning  school.  She  took  them  from  the  door-steps 
and  the  gutters  ;  she  washed  their  faces  and  hands ;  she 
taught  them  to  read  and  sew,  and  told  them  stories  that 
had  delighted  her  own  infancy.  In  her  face,  though  in 
feature  and  complexion  plain,  was  something  already  of  a 
Madonna  sweetness,  and  it  had  no  way  eclipsed  the  gayety 
of  childhood. 

I  have  seen  a  boy,  scarce  older,  brought  up  for  some 
time  with  the  sons  of  laborers,  who,  so  soon  as  he  found 
himself  possessed  of  superior  advantages,  thought  not  of 
surpassing  others,  but  of  excelling  that  he  might  be  able 
to  impart ;    and  he  was  able  to  do  it.     If  the  other  bovs 


308  MISCELLANIES. 

had  less  leisure,  and  could  pay  for  less  instruction,  they 
did  not  suffer  by  it.  He  could  not  be  happy  unless  they 
also  could  enjoy  Milton,  and  pass  from  nature  to  natural 
philosophy.  He  performed,  though  in  a  childish  way, 
and  in  no  Grecian  garb,  the  part  of  Apollo  amidst  the 
herdsmen  of  Admetus. 

The  cause  of  education  would  be  indefinitely  furthered 
if,  in  addition  to  formal  means,  there  were  but  this  prin- 
ciple awakened  in  the  hearts  of  the  young,  that  what 
they  have  they  must  bestow.  All  are  not  natural  instruc- 
tors, but  a  large  proportion  are;  and  those  who  do  pos- 
sess such  a  talent  are  the  best  possible  teachers  to  those 
a  little  younger  than  themselves.  Many  have  more 
patience  with  the  difficulties  they  have  lately  left  behind, 
and  enjoy  their  power  of  assisting  more  than  those  fur- 
ther removed  in  age  and  knowledge  do. 

Then  the  intercourse  may  be  far  more  congenial  and 
profitable  than  where  the  teacher  receives  for  hire  all 
sorts  of  pupils  as  they  are  sent  him  by  their  guardians. 
Here  he  need  only  choose  those  who  have  a  predisposi- 
tion for  what  he  is  best  able  to  teach ;  and,  as  I  would 
have  the  so-called  higher  instruction  as  much  diffused  in 
this  way  as  the  lower,  there  would  be  a  chance  jf  awak- 
ening all  the  power  that  now  lies  latent. 

If  a  girl,  for  instance,  who  has  only  a  passable  talent 
for  music,  but  who,  from  the  advantage  of  social  position, 
has  been  able  to  gain  thorough  instruction,  felt  it  her 
duty  to  teach  whomsoever  she  knew  that  had  a  talent 
without  money  td  cultivate  it,  the  good  is  obvious. 

Those  who  are  learning,  receive  an  immediate  benefit 


CHRISTMAS.  309 

by  the  effort  to  rearrange  and  interpret  what  thej  learn  ; 
so  the  use  of  this  justice  would  be  two-fold. 

Some  efforts  are  made  here  and  there ;  nay,  sometimes 
there  are  those/  who  can  say  they  have  returned  usury 
for  every  gift  of  fate ;  and  would  others  make  the  same 
experiments,  they  might  find  Utopia  not  so  far  off  as 
the  children  of  this  world,  wise  in  securing  their  own 
selfish  ease,  would  persuade  us  it  must  always  be. 

We  have  hinted  what  sort  of  Christmas-box  we  would 
wish  for  the  children ;  it  must  be  one  as  full,  as  that  of 
the  Christ-child  must  be,  of  the  pieces  of  silver  that 
were  lost  and  are  found.  But  Christmas  with  its  peculiar 
associations  has  deep  interest  for  men  and  women  no  less. 
At  that  time  thus  celebrated,  a  pure  woman  saw  in  her 
child  what  the  Son  of  man  should  be  as  a  child  of  God. 
She  anticipated  for  him  a  life  of  glory  to  God,  peace 
and  good- will  towards  men.  In  any  young  mother's  heart, 
who  has  any  purity  of  heart,  the  same  feelings  arise. 
But  most  of  these  mothers  carelessly  let  them  go  without 
obeying  their  instructions.  If  they  did  not,  we  should 
see-  other  children,  other  men  than  now  throng  our 
streets.  The  boy  could  not  invariably  disappoint  the 
mother,  the  man  the  wife,  who  steadily  demanded  of 
him  such  a  career. 

And  Man  looks  upon  Woman,  in  this  relation,  always 
as  he  should.  Does  he  see  in  her  a  holy  mother,  worthy 
to  guard  the  infancy  of  an  immortal  soul?  Then  she 
assumes  in  his  eyes  those  traits  which  the  Romish  church 
loved  to  revere  in  Mary.  Frivolity,  base  appetite,  con- 
tempt, are  exorcised,  and  Man  and  Woman  appear  again, 


310  MISCELLANIES. 

in  unprofaned  connection,  as  brother  and  sister,  children 
and  servants  of  one  Divine  Love,  and  pilgrims  to  a  com- 
mon aim. 

Were  all  this  right  in  the  private  sphere,  the  public 
would  soon  right  itself  also,  and  the  nations  of  Christen- 
dom might  join  in  a  celebration  such  as  "Kings  and 
Prophets  waited  for,"  and  so  many  martyrs  died  to  achieve, 
of  Christ-mass. 


CHILDREN'S   BOOKS. 

There  is  no  branch  of  literature  that  better  deserves 
cultivation,  and  none  that  so  little  obtains  it  from  worthy 
hands,  as  this  of  Children's  Books.  It  requires  a  pecu- 
liar development  of  the  genius  and  sympathies,  rare 
among  men  of  factitious  life,  who  are  not  men  enough  to 
revive  with  force  and  beauty  the  thoughts  and  scenes  of 
childhood. 

It  is  all  idle  to  talk  baby-talk,  and  give  shallow 
accounts  of  deep  things,  thinking  thereby  to  interest  the 
child.  He  does  not  like  to  be  too  much  puzzled ;  but  it 
is  simplicity  he  wants,  not  silliness.  We  fancy  their 
angels,  who  are  always  waiting  in  the  courts  of  our 
Father,  smile  somewhat  sadly  on  the  ignorance  of  those 
who  would  feed  them  on  milk  and  water  too  long,  and 
think  it  would  be  quite  as  well  to  give  them  a  stone. 

There  is  too  much  amongst  us  of  the  French  way  of 
palming  oiF  false  accounts  of  things  on  children,  "to  do 
them  good,"  and  showing  nature  to  them  in  a  magic 
lantern  "purified  for  the  use  of  childhood,"  and  telling 
stories  of  sweet  little  girls  and  brave  little  boys, —  0,  all 
so  good,  or  so  bad !  and  above  all,  so  little^  and  every- 
thinor  about  them  so  little  !  Children  accustomed  to 
move  in  full-sized  apartments,  and  converse  with  full- 
grown  men  and  women,  do  not  need  so  much  of  this 


312  MISCELLANIES. 

babj-house  style  in  their  literature.  Tbey  like,  or 
would  like  if  they  could  get  them,  better  things  much 
more.  They  like  the  Arabian  Nights^  and  Pilgrim^ s 
Progress^  and  BanyanJs  Emblems^  and  Shakspeare^ 
and  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey^ — at  least,  they  used  to 
like  them ;  and  if  they  do  not  now,  it  is  because  their 
taste  has  been  injured  by  so  many  sugar-plums.  The 
books  that  were  written  in  the  childhood  of  nations 
suit  an  uncorrupted  childhood  now.  They  are  simple, 
picturesque,  robust.  Their  moral  is  not  forced,  nor  is 
the  truth  veiled  with  a  well-meant  but  sure-to-fail  hy- 
pocrisy. Sometimes  they  are  not  moral  at  all, —  only 
free  plays  of  the  fancy  and  intellect.  These,  also,  the 
child  needs,  just  as  the  infant  needs  to  stretch  its  limbs, 
and  grasp  at  objects  it  cannot  hold.  We  have  become 
so  fond  of  the  moral,  that  we  forget  the  nature  in  which 
it  must  find  its  root ;  so  fond  of  instruction,  that  we  for- 
get development. 

Where  ballads,  legends,  fairy-tales,  are  moral,  the 
morality  is  heart-felt ;  if  instructive,  it  is  from  the  healthy 
common  sense  of  mankind,  and  not  for  the  convenience 
of  nursery  rule,  nor  the  ''  peace  of  schools  and  families." 

0,  that  winter,  freezing,  snow-laden  winter,  which 
ushered  in  our  eighth  birthday  !  There,  in  the  lonely 
farm-house,  the  day's  work  done,  and  the  bright  wood- 
fire  all  in  a  glow,  we  were  peimitted  to  slide  back  the 
panel  of  the  cupboard  in  the  wall, — most  fascinating  object 
still  in  our  eyes,  with  which  no  stateliest  alcoved  library 
can  vie, —  and  there  saw,  neatly  ranged  on  its  two  shelves, 
not  —  praised  be  our  natal  star !  —  Peter  Parley^  nor  a 


children's  books.  313 

History  of  the  Good  Little  Boy  who  never  took  anything 
that  did  not  belong  to  him ;  but  the  Spectator^  Telem- 
achus,  Goldsmith' s  Animated  Nature^  and  the  Iliad. 

Forms  of  gods  and  heroes  more  distinctly  seen,  and 
with  eyes  of  nearer  love  then  than  now  !  —  our  true 
uncle,  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  and  ye,  fair  realms  of 
Nature's  history,  whose  pictures  we  tormented  all  grown 
persons  to  illustrate  with  more  knowledge,  still  more,  — 
how  we  bless  the  chance  that  gave  to  us  your  great  real- 
ities, which  life  has  daily  helped  us,  helps  us  still,  to 
interpret,  instead  of  thin  and  baseless  fictions  that  would 
all  this  time  have  hampered  us,  though  with  only  cob- 
webs ! 

Children  need  some  childish  talk,  some  childish  play, 
some  childish  books.  But  they  also  need,  and  need 
more,  difificulties  to  overcome,  and  a  sense  of  the  vast 
mysteries  which  the  progress  of  their  intelligence  shall 
aid  them  to  unravel.  This  sense  is  naturally  their 
delight,  as  it  is  their  religion,  and  it  must  not  be  dulled 
by  premature  explanations  or  subterfuges  of  any  kind. 
There  has  been  too  much  of  this  lately. 

Miss  Edgeworth  is  an  excellent  writer  for  children. 
She  is  a  child  herself,  as  she  writes,  nursed  anew  by  her 
own  genius.  It  is  not  by  imitating,  but  by  reproducing 
childhood,  that  the  writer  becomes  its  companion.  Then, 
indeed,  we  have  something  especially  good,  for, 

*•  Like  wine,  well-kept  and  long, 
Heady,  nor  harsh,  nor  strong. 
With  each  succeeding  year  is  quaffed, 
A  richer,  purer,  mellower  draught." 

27 


514  MISCELLANIES. 

Miss  Edgeworth's  grown  people  live  naturally  with  the 
children ;  thej  do  not  talk  to  them  continually  about 
angels  or  flowers,  but  about  the  things  that  interest 
themselves.  They  do  not  force  them  forward,  nor  keep 
them  back.  The  relations  are  simple  and  honorable ;  all 
ages  in  the  family  seem  at  home  under  one  roof  and 
sheltered  by  one  care. 

The  Juveyiile  Miscellany,  formerly  published  by  Mrs. 
Child,  was  much  and  deservedly  esteemed  by  children. 
It  was  a  healthy,  cheerful,  natural  and  entertaining  com- 
panion to  them. 

We  should  censure  too  monotonously  tender  a  manner 
in  what  is  written  for  children,  and  too  constant  an  atten- 
tion to  moral  mfluence.  We  should  prefer  a  larger  pro- 
portion of  the  facts  of  natural  or  human  history,  and  that 
they  should  speak  for  themselves. 

*  *  *  :^  *  * 


WOMAN   IN   POVERTY. 

Woman,  even  less  than  Man,  is  what  she  should  be  as 
a  whole.  She  is  not  that  self-centred  being,  full  of  pro- 
found intuitions,  angelic  love,  and  flowing  poesy,  that 
she  should  be.  Yet  there  are  circumstances  in  which  the 
native  force  and  purity  of  her  being  teach  her  how  to 
conquer  where  the  restless  impatience  of  Man  brings 
defeat,  and  leaves  him  crushed  and  bleeding  on  the  field. 

Images  rise  to  mind  of  calm  strength,  of  gentle  wis- 
dom learning  from  every  turn  of  adverse  fate, —  of  youth- 
ful tenderness  and  faith  undimmed  to  the  close  of  life, 
which  redeem  humanity  and  make  the  heart  glow  with 
fresh  courage  as  we  write.  They  are  mostly  from 
obscure  corners  and  very  private  walks.  There  was  noth- 
ing shining,  nothing  of  an  obvious  and  sounding  heroism 
to  make  their  conduct  doubtful,  by  tainting  their  motives 
with  vanity.  Unknown  they  lived,  untrumpeted  they 
died.  Many  hearts  were  warmed  and  fed  by  them,  but 
perhaps  no  mind  but  our  own  ever  consciously  took 
account  of  their  virtues. 

Had  Art  but  the  power  adequately  to  tell  their  simple 
virtues,  and  to  cast  upon  them  the  light  which,  shining 
through  those  marked  and  faded  faces,  foretold  the  glo- 
ries of  a  second  spring  !     The  tears  of  holy  emotion 


316  MISCELLANIES. 

which  fell  from  those  ejes  have  seemed  to  us  pearls 
beyond  all  price ;  or  rather,  whose  price  will  be  paid 
only  when,  beyond  the  grave,  they  enter  those  better 
spheres  in  whose  faith  they  felt  and  acted  here. 

From  this  private  gallery  we  will,  for  the  present, 
bring  forth  but  one  picture.  That  of  a  Black  Nun  was 
wont  to  fetter  the  eyes  of  visitors  in  the  royal  galleries 
of  France,  and  my  Sister  of  Mercy,  too,  is  of  that  com- 
plexion. The  old  woman  was  recommended  as  a  laun- 
dress by  my  friend,  who  had  long  prized  her.  I  was  im- 
mediately struck  with  the  dignity  and  propriety  of  her 
manner.  In  the  depth  of  winter  she  brought  herself  the 
heavy  baskets  through  the  slippery  streets ;  and,  when  I 
asked  her  why  she  did  not  employ  some  younger  person 
to  do  what  was  so  entirely  disproportioned  to  her  strength, 
simply  said,  ''  she  lived  alone,  and  could  not  afford  to 
hire  an  errand-boy."  "It  was  hard  for  her  ?  "  "  No,  she 
w^as  fortunate  in  being  able  to  get  work  at  her  age,  when 
others  could  do  it  better.  Her  friends  were  very  good  to 
procure  it  for  her."  '•  Had  she  a  comfortable  home  ?  " 
"  Tolerably  so,  —  she  should  not  need  one  long."  ''  Was 
that  a  thought  of  joy  to  her?  "  "  Yes,  for  she  hoped  to 
see  again  the  husband  and  children  from  whom  she  had 
long  been  separated." 

Thus  much  in  answer  to  the  questions,  but  at  other 
times  the  little  she  said  was  on  general  topics.  It  was 
not  from  her  that  I  learnt  how  the  great  idea  of  Duty 
had  held  her  upright  through  a  life  of  incessant  toil,  sor- 
row, bereavement ;  and  that  not  only  she  had  remained 
upright,  but  that  her  character  had  been  constantly  pro- 


WOMEN  IN  POVERTY.  317 

gressive.  Her  latest  act  had  been  to  take  home  a  poor 
sick  girl  who  had  no  home  of  her  own,  and  could  not 
bear  the  idea  of  dying  in  a  hospital,  and  maintain  and 
nurse  her  through  the  last  weeks  of  her  life.  "  Her  eye- 
sight was  failing,  and  she  should  not  be  able  to  work 
much  longer,  —  but,  then,  God  would  provide.  Some- 
body ought  to  see  to  the  poor,  motherless  girl." 

It  was  not  merely  the  greatness  of  the  act,  for  one  in 
such  circumstances,  but  the  quiet  matter-of-course  way 
in  which  it  was  done,  that  showed  the  habitual  tone  of 
the  mind,  and  made  us  feel  that  life  could  hardly  do 
more  for  a  human  being  than  to  make  him  or  her  the 
somebody  that  is  daily  so  deeply  needed,  to  represent  the 
right,  to  do  the  plain  right  thing. 

"  God  will  provide."  Yes,  it  is  the  poor  who  feel 
themselves  near  to  the  God  of  love.  Though  he  slay 
them,  still  do  they  trust  him. 

"  I  hope,"  said  I  to  a  poor  apple- woman,  who  had 
been  drawn  on  to  disclose  a  tale  of  distress  that,  almost 
in  the  mere  hearing,  made  me  weary  of  life,  "  I  hope  I 
may  yet  see  you  in  a  happier  condition."  "  With  God's 
help,"  she  replied,  with  a  smile  that  Raphael  would  have 
delighted  to  transfer  to  his  canvas  ;  a  Mozart,  to  strains 
of  angelic  sweetness.  All  her  life  she  had  seemed  an 
outcast  child  ;  still  she  leaned  upon  a  Father's  love. 

The  dignity  of  a  state  like  this  may  vary  its  form  in 
more  or  less  richness  and  beauty  of  detail,  but  here  is  the 
focus  of  what  makes  life  valuable.  It  is  this  spirit  which 
makes  poverty  the  best  servant  to  the  ideal  of  human 
nature.  I  am  content  with  this  type,  and  will  only 
27* 


318  MISCELLANIES. 

quote,  in  addition,  a  ballad  I  found  in  a  foreign  periodi- 
cal, translated  from  Chamisso,  and  which  forcibly  recalled 
my  own  laundress  as  an  equally  admirable  sample  of  the 
same  class,  the  Ideal  Poor,  which  we  need  for  our  con- 
solation, so  long  as  there  must  be  real  poverty. 

"THE  OLD   WASHERWOMAN. 

**  Among  yon  lines  her  hands  have  laden, 

A  laundress  with  white  hair  appears, 
wAlert  as  many  a  youthful  maiden, 

Spite  of  her  five-and-seventy  years  ; 
Bravely  she  won  those  white  hairs,  still 

Eating  the  bread  hard  toil  obtained  her, 
And  laboring  truly  to  fulfil 

The  duties  to  which  God  ordained  her. 

"  Once  she  was  young  and  full  of  gladness. 

She  loved  and  hoped,  —  was  wooed  and  won  ; 
Then  came  the  matron's  cares,  —  the  sadness 

No  loving  heart  on  earth  may  shun. 
Three  babes  she  bore  her  mate  ;  she  prayed 

Beside  his  sick-bed,  — he  was  taken  ; 
She  saw  him  in  the  church-yard  laid. 

Yet  kept  her  faith  and  hope  unshaken. 

•'  The  task  her  little  ones  of  feeding 

She  met  unfaltering  from  thiat  hour  ; 
She  taught  them  thrift  and  honest  breeding. 

Her  virtues  were  their  worldly  dower. 
To  seek  employment,  one  by  one. 

Forth  with  her  blessing  they  departed. 
And  she  was  in  the  world  alone — 

Alone  and  old,  but  still  high-hearted. 

"  With  frugal  forethought,  self-denying. 
She  gathered  coin,  and  flax  she  bought. 


WOMEN   IN   POVERTY.  319 

And  many  a  night  her  spindle  plying. 

Good  store  of  fine-spun  thread  she  wrought. 

The  thread  was  fashioned  in  the  loom  ; 
She  brought  it  home,  and  calmly  seated 

To  work,  with  not  a  thought  of  gloom. 
Her  decent  grave-clothes  she  completed. 

•'  She  looks  on  them  with  fond  elation  ; 

They  are  her  wealth,  her  treasure  rare. 
Her  age's  pride  and  consolation. 

Hoarded  with  all  a  miser's  care. 
She  dons  the  sark  each  Sabbath  day. 

To  hear  the  Word  that  faileth  never  ; 
Well-pleased  she  lays  it  then  away 

Till  she  shall  sleep  in  it  forever  ! 

*'  Would  that  my  spirit  witness  bore  me 

That,  like  this  woman,  I  had  done 
The  work  my  Master  put  before  me 

Duly  from  mom  till  set  of  sun  ' 
Would  that  life's  cup  had  been  by  me 

Quaffed  in  such  wise  and  happy  measure. 
And  that  I  too  might  finally 

Look  on  my  shroud  with  such  meek  pleasure  !  " 

Such  are  the  noble  of  the  earth.  They  do  not  repine, 
they  do  not  chafe,  even  in  the  inmost  heart.  They 
feel  that,  whatever  else  may  be  denied  or  withdrawn, 
there  remains  the  better  part,  which  cannot  be  taken 
from  them.  This  line  exactly  expresses  the  woman  I 
knew:  — 

*'  Alone  and  old,  but  still  high-hearted.'* 

Will  any,  poor  or  rich,  fail  to  feel  that  the  children 
of  such  a  parent  were  rich  when 

*•  Her  virtues  were  their  worldly  dower  "  ? 


3  20  MISCELLANIES. 

Will  any  fail  to  bow  the  heart  in  assent  to  the  aspira- 
tion, 

"  Would  that  my  spirit  witness  bore  me 
That,  like  this  woman,  I  had  done 
The  work  my  Maker  put  before  me 
Duly  from  morn  till  set  of  sun  "  ? 

May  not  that  suffice  to  any  man's  ambition  ? 


[PerLaps  one  of  the  most  perplexing  problems  which  beset  Woman 
in  her  domestic  sphere  relates  to  the  proper  care  and  influence  which 
she  should  exert  over  the  domestic  aids  she  employs.  As  these  are, 
and  long  must  be,  taken  chiefly  from  one  nation,  the  following  pages 
treating  of  the  Irish  Character,  and  the  true  relation  between  Em- 
ployer and  Employed,  can  hardly  fail  to  be  of  interest.  They  contain, 
too,  some  considerations  which  Woman  as  well  as  Man  is  too  much  in 
danger  of  overlooking,  and  which  seem,  even  more  than  when  first 
urged,  to  be  timely  in  this  reactionary  to-day.  —  Ed  ] 

THE   IRISH   CHARACTER. 

In  one  of  the  eloquent  passages  quoted  in  the  ''  Trib- 
une "  of  Wednesday,  under  the  head,  "  Spirit  of  the 
Irish  Press,"  we  find  these  words  : 

"  Domestic  love,  almost  morbid  from  external  suffer- 
ing, prevents  him  (the  Irishman)  from  becoming  a  fanatic 
and  a  misanthrope,  and  reconciles  him  to  life." 

This  recalled  to  our  mind  the  many  touching  instances 
known  to  us  of  such  traits  among  the  Irish  we  have  seen 
here.  We  have  known  instances  of  morbidness  like  this. 
A  girl  sent  ''home,"  after  she  was  well  established  her- 
self, for  a  young  brother,  of  whom  she  was  particularly 
fond.  He  came,  and  shortly  after  died.  She  was  so 
overcome  by  his  loss  that  she  took  poison.  The  great 
poet  of  serious  England  says,  and  we  believe  it  to  be  his 
serious  thought  though  laughingly  said,  "Men  have 
died,  and  worms  have  eaten  them,  but  not  for  love." 


322  MISCELLANIES. 

Whether  or  not  death  may  follow  from  the  loss  of  a  lover 
or  child,  we  believe  that  among  no  people  but  the  Irish 
would  it  be  upon  the  loss  of  a  young  brother. 

Another  poor  young  woman,  in  the  flower  of  her 
youth,  denied  herself,  not  only  every  pleasure,  but  almost 
the  necessaries  of  life  to  save  the  sum  she  thought  ought 
lo  be  hers  before  sending  to  Ireland  for  a  widowed 
mother.  Just  as  she  was  on  the  point  of  doing  so  she 
heard  that  her  mother  had  died  fifteen  months  before. 
The  keenness  and  persistence  of  her  grief  defy  description. 
With  a  delicacy  of  feeling  which  showed  the  native  poetry 
of  the  Irish  mind,  she  dwelt,  most  of  all,  upon  the  thought 
that  while  she  was  working,  and  pinching,  and  dreaming 
of  happiness  with  her  mother,  it  was  indeed  but  a  dream, 
and  that  cherished  parent  lay  still  and  cold  beneath  the 
ground.  She  felt  fully  the  cruel  cheat  of  Fate.  '•  Och  ! 
and  she  was  dead  all  those  times  I  was  thinking  of  her !  " 
was  the  deepest  note  of  her  lament. 

They  are  able,  however,  to  make  the  sacrifice  of  even 
these  intense  family  affections  in  a  worthy  cause.  We 
knew  a  woman  who  postponed  sending  for  her  only  child, 
whom  she  had  left  in  Ireland,  for  years,  while  she  main- 
tained a  sick  friend  who  had  no  one  else  to  help  her. 

The  poetry  of  which  I  have  spoken  shows  itself  even 
here,  where  they  are  separated  from  old  romantic  associa- 
tions, and  begin  the  new  life  in  the  New  World  by  doing 
all  its  drudgery.  We  know  flights  of  poetry  repeated 
to  us  by  those  present  at  their  wakes,  —  passages  of 
natural  eloquence,  from  the  lamentations  for  the  dead, 


THE   miSH   CHARACTER.  323 

more  bejiutiful  than  those  recorded  in  the  annals  of  Brit- 
tany or  Roumelia. 

It  is  the  same  genius,  so  exquisitely  mournful,  tender, 
and  glowing,  too,  with  the  finest  enthusiasm,  that  makes 
their  national  music,  in  these  respects,  the  finest  in  the 
world.  It  is  the  music  of  the  harp  ;  its  tones  are  deep 
and  thrilling.  It  is  the  harp  so  beautifully  described  in 
"  The  Harp  of  Tara's  Halls,"  a  song  whose  simple  pathos 
is  unsurpassed.  A  feeling  was  never  more  adequately 
embodied. 

It  is  the  genius  which  will  enable  Emmet's  appeal  to 
draw  tears  from  the  remotest  generations,  however  much 
they  may  be  strangers  to  the  circumstances  which  called 
it  forth.  It  is  the  genius  which  beamed  in  chivalrous 
loveliness  through  each  act  of  Lord  Edward  Fitzcrerald, 
—  the  genius  which,  ripened  by  English  culture,  favored 
by  suitable  occasions,  has  shed  such  glory  on  the  land 
which  has  done  all  it  could  to  quench  it  on  the  parent 
hearth. 

When  we  consider  all  the  fire  which  glows  so  untam- 
ably  in  Irish  veins,  the  character  of  her  people,  consider- 
ing the  circumstances,  almost  miraculous  in  its  goodness, 
we  cannot  forbear,  notwithstanding  all  the  temporary  ills 
they  aid  in  here,  to  give  them  a  welcome  to  our  shores. 
Those  ills  we  need  not  enumerate ;  they  are  known  to 
all,  and  we  rank  among  them,  what  others  would  not, 
that  by  their  ready  service  to  do  all  the  hard  work,  they 
make  it  easier  for  the  rest  of  the  population  to  grow 
efieminate,  and  help  the  country  to  grow  too  fast. 
Bit  that  is  her  destiny,  to  grow  too  fast :  there  is  no  use 


824  MISCELLANIES. 

talking  against  it.  Their  extreme  ignorance,  their  blind 
devotion  to  their  priesthood,  their  pliancy  in  the  hands 
of  demagogues,  threaten  continuance  of  these  ills  ^  yet, 
on  the  other  hand,  we  must  regard  them  as  most  valua- 
ble elements  in  the  new  race.  They  are  looked  upon 
with  contempt  for  their  want  of  aptitude  in  learning  new 
things ;  their  ready  and  ingenious  lying ;  their  eye-ser- 
vice. These  are  the  faults  of  an  oppressed  race,  which 
must  require  the  aid  of  better  circumstances  through  two 
or  three  generations  to  eradicate.  Their  virtues  are  their 
own  ;  they  are  many,  genuine,  and  deeply-rooted.  Can 
an  impartial  observer  fail  to  admire  their  truth  to  domes- 
tic ties,  their  power  of  generous  bounty,  and  more 
generous  gratitude,  their  indefatigable  good-humor  (for* 
ages  of  wrong  which  have  driven  them  to  so  many  acts 
of  desperation,  could  never  sour  their  blood  at  its  source), 
their  ready  wit,  their  elasticity  of  nature  ?  They  are 
fundamentally  one  of  the  best  nations  of  the  world. 
Would  they  were  welcomed  here,  not  to  work  merely, 
but  to  intelligent  sympathy,  and  efforts,  both  patient  and 
ardent,  for  the  education  of  their  children !  No  sympathy 
could  be  better  deserved,  no  eflforts  wiselier  timed.  Future 
Burkes  and  Currans  would  know  how  to  give  thanks 
for  them,  and  Fitzgeralds  rise  upon  the  soil  —  which 
boasts  the  magnolia  with  its  kingly  stature  and  majestical 
white  blossoms,  —  to  the  same  lofty  and  pure  beauty. 
Will  you  not  believe  it,  merely  because  that  bog-bred 
youth  you  placed  in  the  mud-hole  tells  you  lies,  and 
drinks  to  cheer  himself  in  those  endless  diggings  ?  -You 
are  short-sighted,  my  friend :  you  do  not  look  to  the 


THE   IRISH   CHARACTER.  325 

future ;  you  will  not  turn  your  head  to  see  what  may 
have  been  the  influences  of  the  past.  You  have  not 
examined  your  own  breast  to  see  whether  the  moniton 
there  has  not  commanded  you  to  do  your  part  to  coun- 
teract these  influences  ;  and  yet  the  Irishman  appeals  to 
you,  eye  to  eye.  He  is  very  personal  himself,  —  he 
expects  a  personal  interest  from  you.  Nothing  has  been 
able  to  destroy  this  hope,  which  was  the  fruit  of  his 
nature.  We  were  much  touched  by  O'Connell's  direct 
appeal  to  the  queen,  as  "Lady!"  But  she  did  not 
listen,  —  and  we  fear  few  ladies  and  gentlemen  will  till 
the  progress  of  Destiny  compels  them. 
28 


THE   IRISH   CHARACTER. 

Since  the  publication  of  a  short  notice  under  this  head 
in  the  ''  Tribune^'' ^  several  persons  have  expressed  to  us 
that  their  feelings  were  awakened  on  the  subject,  espe- 
cially as  to  their  intercourse  with  the  lower  Irish.  Most 
persons  have  an  opportunity  of  becoming  acquainted,  if 
they  will,  with  the  lower  classes  of  Irish,  as  they  are  so 
much  employed  among  us  in  domestic  service,  and  other 
kinds  of  labor. 

We  feel,  say  these  persons,  the  justice  of  what  has 
been  said  as  to  the  duty  and  importance  of  improving 
these  people.  We  have  sometimes  tried ;  but  the  want 
of  real  gratitude  which,  in  them,  is  associated  with  such 
warm  and  wordy  expressions  of  regard,  with  their  incor- 
rigible habits  of  falsehood  and  evasion,  have  baffled  and 
discouraged  us.  You  say  their  children  ought  to  be 
educated ;  but  how  can  this  be  effected  when  the  all  but 
omnipotent  sway  of  the  Catholic  religion  and  the  exam- 
ple of  parents  are  both  opposed  to  the  formation  of  such 
views  and  habits  as  we  think  desirable  to  the  citizen  of 
the  New  World  ? 

We  answer  first  with  regard  to  those  who  have  grown 
up  in  another  land,  and  who,  soon  after  ariiving  here, 
are  engaged  in  our  service. 


THE   IRISH   CHARACTER.  327 

First,  as  to  ingratitude.  We  cannot  but  sadlj  smile 
on  the  remarks  we  hear  so  often  on  this  subject. 

Just  Heaven  !  —  and  to  us  how  liberal !  which  has 
given  those  who  speak  thus  an  unfettered  existence,  free 
from  religious  or  political  oppression ;  which  has  given 
them  the  education  of  intellectual  and  refined  intercourse 
with  men  to  develop  those  talents  which  make  them 
rich  in  thoughts  and  enjoyment,  perhaps  in  money,  too, 
certainly  rich  in  comparison  with  the  poor  immigrants 
they  employ,  —  what  is  thought  in  thy  clear  light  of 
those  who  expect  in  e^c^ange  for  a  few  shillings  spent  in 
presents  or  .jnedicines,  a  few  kind  words,  a  little  casual 
thought  or  care,  such  a  mighty  payment  of  gratitude? 
Gratitud.e !  Under  the  weight  of  old  feudalism  their 
minds  were  padlocked  by  habit  against  the  light ;  they 
might  be  grateful  then,  for  they  thought  their  lords  were 
as  gods,  of  another  frame  and  spirit  than  theirs,  and  that 
they  had  no  right  to  have  the  same  hopes  and  wants, 
scarcely  to  suffer  from  the  same  maladies,  with  those 
creatures  of  silk,  and  velvet,  and  cloth  of  gold.  Then, 
the  crumbs  which  fell  from  the  rich  man's  table  might 
be  received  with  gratitude,  and,  if  any  but  the  dogs  came 
to  tend  the  beggar's  sores,  such  might  be  received  as 
angels.  But  the  institutions  which  sustained  such  ideas 
have  fallen  to  pieces.  It  is  understood,  even  in  Europe, 
that 

"  The  rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp. 
The  man  's  the  gowd  for  a'  that, 
A  man  's  a  man  for  a'  that.'* 

And  being  such,  has  a  claim  on   this  earth  for  some- 


328  MISCELLANIES. 

thing  better  than  the  nettles  of  which  the  French  peas- 
antry made  their  soup,  and  with  which  the  persecuted 
Irish,  "under  hiding,"  turned  to  green  the  lips  white 
before  with  famine. 

And  if  this  begins  to  be  understood  in  Europe,  can 
you  suppose  it  is  not  by  those  who,  hearing  that  America 
opens  a  mother's  arms  with  the  cry,  "  All  men  are  born 
free  and  equal,"  rush  to  her  bosom  to  be  consoled  for 
centuries  of  woe,  for  their  ignorance,  their  hereditary 
degradation,  their  long  memories  of  black  bread  and 
stripes  ?  However  little  else  they  may  understand, 
believe  they  understand  well  this  much.  Such  inequal- 
ities of  privilege,  among  men  all  born  of  one  blood, 
should  not  exist.  They  darkly  feel  that  those  to  whom 
much  has  been  given  owe  to  the  Master  an  account  of 
stewardship.  They  know  now  that  your  gift  is  but  a 
small  portion  of  their  right. 

And  you,  0  giver  !  how  did  you  give  ?  With  religious 
joy,  as  one  who  knows  that  he  who  loves  God  cannot  fail 
to  love  his  neighbor  as  himself  ?  with  joy  and  freedom,  as 
one  who  feels  that  it  is  the  highest  happiness  of  gift  to  us 
that  we  have  something  to  give  again  ?  Didst  thou  put 
thyself  into  the  position  of  the  poor  man,  and  do  for  him 
what  thou  wouldst  have  had  one  who  was  able  to  do  for 
thee  ?  Or,  with  affability  and  condescending  sweetness, 
made  easy  by  internal  delight  at  thine  own  wondrous  vir- 
tue, didst  thou  give  five  dollars  to  balance  five  hundred 
spent  on  thyself?  Did  you  say,  "  James,  I  shall  expect 
you  to  do  right  in  everything,  and  to  attend  to  my  con- 
cerns as  I  should  myself ;  and,  at  the  end  of  the  quarter, 


THE  IRISH   CH^IRACTER.  329 

I  will  give  you  my  old  clothes  and  a  new  pocket-handker- 
chief, besides  seeing  that  your  mother  is  provided  with 
fuel  against  Christmas  ?  " 

Line  upon  line,  and  precept  upon  precept,  the  tender 
parent  expects  from  the  teacher  to  whom  he  confides  his 
child ;  vigilance  unwearied,  day  and  night,  through  long 
years.  But  he  expects  the  raw  Irish  girl  or  boy  to  cor- 
rect, at  a  single  exhortation,  the  habit  of  deceiving  those 
above  them,  w^hich  the  expectation  of  being  tyrannized 
over  has  rooted  in  their  race  for  ages.  If  we  look  fairly 
into  the  history  of  their  people,  and  the  circumstances 
under  which  their  own  youth  was  trained,  we  cannot 
expect  that  anything  short  of  the  most  steadfast  patience 
and  love  can  enlighten  them  as  to  the  beauty  and  value  of 
implicit  truth,  and,  having  done  so,  fortify  and  refine  them 
in  the  practice  of  it. 

This  we  admit  at  the  outset :  First,  You  must  be  pre- 
pared for  a  religious  and  patient  treatment  of  these  people, 
not  merely  z/weducated,  but  ^//-educated ;  a  treatment  far 
more  religious  and  patient  than  is  demanded  by  your  own 
children,  if  they  were  born  and  bred  under  circumstances 
at  all  favorable. 

Second,  Dismiss  from  your  minds  all  thought  of  grat- 
itude. Do  what  you  do  for  them  for  God's  sake,  and  as 
a  debt  to  humanity  — interest  to  the  common  creditor  upon 
principal  left  in  your  care.  Then  insensibility,  forgetful- 
ness,  or  relapse,  will  not  discourage  you,  and  you  will 
welcome  proofs  of  genuine  attachment  to  yourself  chiefly 
as  tokens  that  your  charge  has  risen  into  a  higher  state  of 
thought  *\nd  feeling,  so  as  to  be  enabled  to  value  the  bene- 
28* 


330  MISCELLANIES. 

fits  conferred  through  you.  Could  we  begin  so,  there 
would  be  hope  of  our  really  becoming  the  instructors  and 
guardians  of  this  swarm  of  souls  which  come  from  their 
regions  of  torment  to  us,  hoping,  at  least,  the  benefits  of 
purgatory. 

The  influence  of  the  Catholic  priesthood  must  continue 
very  great  till  there  is  a  complete  transfusion  of  character 
in  the  minds  of  their  charge.  But  as  the  Irishman,  or 
any  other  foreigner,  becomes  Americanized,  he  will  demand 
a  new  form  of  religion  to  suit  his  new  wants.  The  priest, 
too,  will  have  to  learn  the  duties  of  an  American  citizen ; 
he  will  live  less  and  less  for  the  church,  and  more  for  the 
people,  till  at  last,  if  there  be  Catholicism  still,  it  will  be 
under  Protestant  influences,  as  begins  to  be  the  case  in 
Germany.  It  will  be,  not  Roman,  but  American  Cathol- 
icism ;  a  form  of  worship  which  relies  much,  perhaps,  on 
external  means  and  the  authority  of  the  clergy, —  for  such 
will  always  be  the  case  with  religion  while  there  are 
crowds  of  men  still  living  an  external  life,  and  who  have 
not  learned  to  make  full  use  of  their  own  faculties, —  but 
where  a  belief  in  the  benefits  of  confession  and  the  power 
of  the  church,  as  church,  to  bind  and  loose,  atone  for  or 
decide  upon  sin.  with  similar  corruptions,  must  vanish  in 
the  free  and  searching  air  of  a  new  era. 

*  *  *  *  * 

Between  employer  and  employed  there  is  not  sufficient 
pains  taken  on  the  part  of  the  former  to  establish  a 
mutual  understanding.  People  meet,  in  the  relations  of 
master  and  servant,  who  have  lived  in  two  different  worlds. 
In  this  respect  we  are  much  worse  situated  than  the  same 


THE  IRISH  CHARACTER.  331 

parties  have  been  in  Europe.  There  is  less  previous 
acquaintance  between  the  upper  and  lower  classes.  (We 
must,  though  unwillingly,  use  these  terms  to  designate 
the  state  of  things  as  at  present  existing.)  Meals  are 
taken  separately ;  work  is  seldom  shared ;  there  is  very 
little  to  bring  the  parties  together,  except  sometimes  the 
farmer  works  with  his  hired  Irish  laborer  in  the  fields, 
or  the  mother  keeps  the  nurse-maid  of  her  baby  in  the 
room  with  her. 

In  this  state  of  things  the  chances  for  instruction, 
which  come  every  day  of  themselves  where  parties  share 
a  common  life  instead  of  its  results  merely,  do  not  occur. 
Neither  is  there  opportunity  to  administer  instruction 
in  the  best  manner,  nor  to  understand  when  and  where  it 
is  needed. 

The  farmer  who  works  with  his  men  in  the  field,  the 
farmer's  wife  who  attends  with  her  women  to  the  churn 
and  the  oven,  may,  with  ease,  be  true  father  and  mother 
to  all  who  are  in  their  employ,  and  enjoy  health  of  con- 
science in  the  relation,  secure  that,  if  they  find  cause  for 
blame,  it  is  not  from  faults  induced  by  their  own  negli- 
gence. The  merchant  who  is  from  home  all  day,  the  lady 
receiving  visitors  or  working  slippers  in  her  nicely-fur- 
nished parlor,  cannot  be  quite  so  sure  that  their  demands, 
or  the  duties  involved  in  them,  are  clearly  understood,  nor 
estimate  the  temptations  to  prevarication. 

It  is  shocking  to  think  to  what  falsehoods  human  beings 
like  ourselves  will  resort,  to  excuse  a  love  of  amusement, 
to  hide  ill-health,  while  they  see  us  indulging  freely  in 
the  one,  yielding  lightly  to  the  other ;  and  yet  we  have, 


332  MISCELLAOTES. 

or  ought  to  have,  far  more  resources  in  either  temptation 
than  they.  For  us  it  is  hard  to  resist,  to  give  up  going 
to  the  places  where  we  should  meet  our  most  interesting 
companions,  or  do  our  work  with  an  aching  brow.  But 
we  have  not  people  over  us  w^hose  careless,  hastj  anger 
drives  us  to  seek  excuses  for  our  failures ;  if  so,  perhaps, 
—  perhaps ;  who  knows  ?  —  we,  the  better-educated,  rig- 
idly, immaculately  true  as  we  are  at  present,  might  tell 
falsehoods.  Perhaps  we  might,  if  things  were  given  us 
to  do  which  we  had  never  seen  done,  if  we  were  sur- 
rounded by  new  arrangements  in  the  nature  of  which  no 
one  instructed  us.  All  this  we  must  think  of  before  we 
can  be  of  much  use. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  nursery-maid  as  the  hired 
domestic  with  whom  her  mistress,  or  even  the  master,  is 
likely  to  become  acquainted.  But,  only  a  day  or  two 
since,  we  saw,  what  we  see  so  often,  a  nursery-maid  with 
the  family  to  which  she  belonged,  in  a  public  conveyance. 
They  were  having  a  pleasant  time  ;  but  in  it  she  had  no 
part,  except  to  hold  a  hot,  heavy  baby,  and  receive  fre- 
quent admonitions  to  keep  it  comfortable.  No  inquiry 
was  made  as  to  Jier  comfort ;  no  entertaining  remark,  no 
information  of  interest  as  to  the  places  we  passed,  was 
addressed  to  her.  Had  she  been  in  that  way  with  that 
family  ten  years  she  might  have  known  them  well 
enough,  for  their  characters  lay  only  too  bare  to  a  care- 
leas  scrutiny  ;  but  her  joys,  her  sorrows,  her  few  thoughts, 
her  almost  buried  capacities,  would  have  been  as  unknown 
to  them,  and  they  as  little  likely  to  benefit  her,  as  the 
Emperor  of  China. 


THE   IRISH   CHARACTER.  333 

Let  the  employer  place  the  employed  first  in  good 
physical  circumstances,  so  as  to  promote  the  formation  of 
different  habits  from  those  of  the  Irish  hovel,  or  illicit 
still-house.  Having  thus  induced  feelings  of  self-respect, 
he  has  opened  the  door  for  a  new  set  of  notions.  Then 
let  him  become  acquainted  with  the  family  circumstances 
and  history  of  his  new  pupil.  He  has  now  got  some 
ground  on  which  to  stand  for  intercourse.  Let  instruc- 
tion follow  for  the  mind,  not  merely  by  having  the 
youngest  daughter  set,  now  and  then,  copies  in  the 
,  writing-book,  or  by  hearing  read  aloud  a  few  verses  in 
the  Bible,  but  by  putting  good  books  in  their  way,  if  able 
to  read,  and  by  intelligent  conversation  when  there  is  a 
chance, —  the  master  with  the  man  who  is  driving  him, 
the  lady  with  the  woman  who  is  making  her  bed. 
Explain  to  them  the  relations  of  objects  around  them ; 
teach  them  to  compare  the  old  with  the  new  life.  If  you 
show  a  better  way  than  theirs  of  doing  work,  teach  them, 
too,  why  li  is  better.  Thus  w^ill  the  mind  be  prepared 
by  development  for  a  moral  reformation ;  there  will  be 
some  soil  fitted  to  receive  the  seed. 

When  the  time  is  come, —  and  will  you  think  a  poor, 
uneducated  person,  in  whose  mind  the  sense  of  right  and 
wrong  is  confused,  the  sense  of  honor  blunted,  easier  of 
access  than  one  refined  and  thoughtful  ?  Surely  you  will 
not,  if  you  yourself  are  refined  and  thoughtful,  but  rather 
that  the  case  requires  far  more  care  in  the  choice  of  a 
favorable  opportunity, —  when,  then,  the  good  time  is 
come,  perhaps  it  will  be  best  to  do  what  you  do  in  a  way 
that  will  make  a  permanent  impression.    Show  the  Irish- 


334  MISCELLANIES. 

man  that  a  vice  not  indigenous  to  his  nation  —  for  the 
rich  and  noble  who  are  not  so  tempted  are  chivalrous  to 
an  uncommon  degree  in  their  openness,  hold  sincerity,  and 
adherence  to  their  word  —  has  crept  over  and  become 
deeply  rooted  in  the  poorer  people  from  the  long  oppres- 
sions they  have  undergone.  Show  them  what  efforts  and 
care  will  be  needed  to  wash  out  the  taint.  Offer  your 
aid,  as  a  faithful  friend,  to  watch  their  lapses,  and  refine 
their  sense  of  truth.  You  will  not  speak  in  vain.  If 
they  never  mend,  if  habit  is  too  powerful,  still,  their 
nobler  nature  will  not  have  been  addressed  in  vain.  They 
will  not  forget  the  counsels  they  have  not  strength  to 
follow,  and  the  benefits  will  be  seen  in  their  children  or 
children's  children. 

Many  say,  "  Well,  suppose  we  do  all  this  ;  what  then? 
They  are  so  fond  of  change,  they  will  leave  us."  What 
then  ?  Why,  let  them  go  and  carry  the  good  seed  else- 
where. Will  you  be  as  selfish  and  short-sighted  as  those 
who  never  plant  trees  to  shade  a  hired  house,  lest  some 
one  else  should  be  blest  by  their  shade  ? 

It  is  a  simple  duty  we  ask  you  to  engage  in  ;  it  is,  also, 
a  great  patriotic  work.  You  are  asked  to  engage  in  the 
great  work  of  mutual  education,  which  must  be  for  this 
country  the  system  of  mutual  insurance. 

We  have  some  hints  upon  this  subject,  drawn  from  the 
experience  of  the  wise  and  good,  some  encouragement  to 
offer  from  that  experience,  that  the  fruits  of  a  wise  plant- 
ing sometimes  ripen  sooner  than  we  could  dare  to  expect. 
But  this  must  be  for  another  day. 

One  word  as  to  this  love  of  change.     We  hear  people 


THE   IRISH   CHARACTER.  335 

blaming  it  in  their  servants,  who  can  and  do  go  to  Niag- 
ara, to  the  South,  to  the  Springs,  to  Europe,  to  the  sea- 
side ;  in  short,  who  are  always  on  the  move  whenever 
thej  feel  the  need  of  variety  to  reanimate  mind,  health, 
or  spirits.  Change  of  place,  as  to  family  employment,  is 
the  only  way  domestics  have  of  "  seeing  life  "  — the  only 
way  immigrants  have  of  getting  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  the  new  society  into  which  they  have  entered.  How 
natural  that  they  should  incline  to  it !  Once  more  ;  put 
yourself  in  their  places,  and  then  judge  them  gently  from 
your  own,  if  you  would  be  just  to  them,  if  you  would  be 
of  any  use.    • 


EDUCATE  MEN  AND  WOMEN  AS  SOULS. 

Had  Christendom  but  been  true  to  its  standard,  while 
accommodating  its  modes  of  operation  to  the  calls  of  suc- 
cessive times,  Woman  would  now  have  not  only  equal 
'power  with  Man,  —  for  of  that  omnipotent  nature  will 
never  suffer  her  to  be  defrauded,  —  but  a  chartered 
power,  too  fullj  recognized  to  be  abused,  f  Indeed,  all 
/  j  that  is  wanting  is,  that  Man  should  prove  his  own  freedom 
bj  making  her  free.  /  Let  him  abandon  conventional 
restriction,  as  a  vestige  of  that  Oriental  barbarity  which 
confined  Woman  to  a  seraglio.  Let  him  trust  her  en- 
tirely, and  give  her  every  privilege  already  acquired  for 
himself,  —  elective  franchise,  tenure  of  property,  liberty 
to  speak  in  public  assemblies,  &c. 

Nature  has  pointed  out  her  ordinary  sphere  by  the 
circumstances  of  her  physical  existence.  She  cannot 
wander  far.  If  here  and  there  the  gods  send  their 
missives  through  women  as  through  men,  let  them  speak 
without  remonstrance.  In  no  age  have  men  been  able 
wholly  to  hinder  them.  A  Deborah  must  ahvays  be  a 
spiritual  mother  in  Israel.  A  Corinna  may  be  excluded 
from  the  Olympic  games,  yet  all  men  will  hear  her  song, 
and  a  Pindar  sit  at  her  feet.  It  is  Man's  fault  that  there 
ever  were  Aspasias  and  Ninons.  These  exquisite  forms 
were  intended  for  the  shrines  of  virtue. 


MEN   AND   WOMEN   AS   SOULS.  337 

Neither  need  men  fear  to  lose  their  domestic  deities. 
Woman  is  born  for  love,  and  it  is  impossible  to  turn  her 
from  seeking  it.  Men  should  deserve  her  love  as  an  in- 
heritance, rather  than  seize  and  guard  it  like  a  prey. 
Were  they  noble,  they  would  strive  rather  not  to  be  loved 
too  much,  and  to  turn  her  from  idolatry  to  the  true,  the 
only  Love.  Then,  children  of  one  Father,  they  could 
not  err  nor  misconceive  one  another. 

Society  is  now  so  complex,  that  it  is  no  longer  possible 
to  educate  Woman  merely  as  Woman ;  the  tasks  which 
come  to  her  hand  are  so  various,  and  so  large  a  proportion 
of^vomen  are  thrown  entirely  upon  their  own  resources, 
(l  admit  that  this  is  not  their  state  of  perfect  development ; 
but  it  seems  as  if  Heaven,  having  so  long  issued  its  edict 
in  poetry  and  religion  without  securing  intelligent  obedi- 
ence, now  commanded  the  world  in  prose  to  take  a  high 
and  rational  view.  The  lesson  reads  to  me  thus  :  — 
/  Sex,  like  rank,  wealthy  beauty^  or  talent,  is  but  an 
accidetft  of 'I>irth.  As  you  would  not  educate  a  soul  to  be 
an  aristocrat,  so  do  not  to  be  a  woman.  J  A  general  regard 
to  her  usual  sphere  is  dictated  in  the  economy  of  nature. 
You  need  never  enforce  these  provisions  rigorously. 
Acltilles  had  long  plied  the  distaff  as  a  princess ;  yet,  at 
first  sight  of  a  sword,  he  seized  it.  So  with  Woman ;  one 
hour  of  love  would  teach  her  more  of  her  proper  relations 
than  all  your  formulas  and  conventions.  ,  Express  your 
views,  men,  of  what  you  seek  in  women ;  thus  best  do 
you  give  them  laws.  Learn,  women,  what  you  should 
demand  of  men  ;  thus  only  can  they  become  themselves. 
Turn  both  from  the  contemplation  of  what  is  merely  phe- 
29 


338  •  MISCELLANIES. 

nomenal  in  your  existence,  to  your  permanent  life  as 
souls.  Man,  do  not  prescribe  how  the  Divine  shall  dis- 
play itself  in  Woman.  Woman,  do  not  expect  to  see  all 
of  God  in  Man.  Fellow-pilgrims  and  helpmeets  are  ye, 
Apollo  and  Diana,  twins  of  one  heavenly  birth,  both 
beneficent,  and  both  armed.  Man,  fear  not  to  yield  to 
Woman's  hand  both  the  quiver  and  the  lyre ;  for  if  her 
urn  be  filled  with  light,  she  will  use  both  to  the  glory  of 
God.  There  is  but  one  doctrine  for  ye  both,  and  that  is 
the  doctrine  of  the  soul. 


PART   III 


EXTRACTS  FROM  JOURNALS  AND  LETTERS. 


[The  following  extract  from  Margaret's  Journal  will  be  read  with  a 
degree  of  melancholy  interest  when  connected  with  the  eventful  end  of 
her  eventful  life.  It  was  written  many  years  before  her  journey  to 
Europe,  and  rings  in  our  ears  now  almost  with  the  tones  of  prophecy. 
—  Ed.] 

I  LIKE  to  listen  to  the  soliloquies  of  a  bright  child. 
In  this  microcosm  the  philosophical  observer  may  trace 
the  natural  progression  of  the  mind  of  mankind.     I  often 

silently  observe  L ,  with  this  view.     He  is  generally 

imitative  and  dramatic;  the  day-school,  the  singing- 
school  or  the  evening  party,  are  acted  out  with  admirable 
variety  in  the  humors  of  the  scene,  and  great  discrimina- 
tion of  character  in  its  broader  features.  What  is  chiefly 
remarkable  is  his  unconsciousness  of  his  mental  processes, 
and  how  thoughts  it  would  be  impossible  for  nim  to  recall 
spring  up  in  his  mind  like  flowers  and  weeds  in  the  soil. 
But  to-night  he  was  truly  in  a  state  of  lyrical  inspiration, 
his  eyes  flashing,  hi&  face  glowing,  and  his  whole  compo- 
sition chanted  out  in  an  almost  metrical  form.  He  began 
by  mourning  the  death  of  a  certain  Harriet  whom  he  had 
let  go  to  foreign  parts,  and  who  had  died  at  sea.  He 
described  her  as  having  "blue,  sparkling  eyes,  and  a 
sweet  smile,"  and  lamented  that  he  could  never  kiss  her 
cold  lips  again  This  part,  which  he  continued  for  some 
29* 


342  MISCELLANIES. 

time,  was  in  prolonged  cadences,  and  a  low,  mournful 
tone,  with  a  frequently  recurring  burden  of  "0,  my 
Harriet,  shall  I  never  see  thee  more  !  " 


EXTRACT   FROM   JOURNAL. 

''  tT  -Tt  TV  -JV  ^  3^ 

It  is  so  true  that  a  woman  may  be  in  love  with  a 
woman,  and  a  man  with  a  man.  It  is  pleasant  to  be  sure 
of  it,  because  it  is  undoubtedly  the  same  love  that  we 
shall  feel  when  we  are  angels,  when  we  ascend  to  the  only 
fit  place  for  the  Mignons,  where 

'•  Sie  fragen  nicht  nach  Mann  und  Weib.'* 

It  is  regulated  by  the  same  law  as  that  of  love  between 
persons  of  different  sexes,  only  it  is  purely  intellectual 
and  spiritual,  unprofaned  by  any  mixture  of  lower  in- 
stincts, undisturbed  by  any  need  of  consulting  temporal 
interests ;  its  law  is  the  desire  of  the  spirit  to  realize  a 
whole,  which  makes  it  seek  in  another  being  that  which 
it  finds  not  in  itself. 

Thus  the  beautiful  seek  the  strong ;  the  mute  seek  the 
eloquent ;  the  butterfly  settles  on  the  dark  flower.  Why 
did  Socrates  so  love  Alcibiades?  Why  did  Kcirner  so 
love  Schneider?  How  natural  is  the  love  of  Wallen- 
stein  for  Max,  that  of  Madame  de  Stael  for  de  Recamier, 

mine  for !     I  loved  — '- —  for  a  time  with  as  much 

passion  as  I  was  then  strong  enough  to  feel.  Her  face  was. 
always  gleaming  before  me ;  her  voice  was  echoing  in  my 
ear ;  all  poetic  thoughts  clustered  round  the  dear  image. 


EXTRACT  FROM  JOURNAL.  343 

This  Icve  vfas  for  me  a  key  which  unlocked  many  a 
treasure  which  I  still  possess  ;  it  was  the  carhuncle  (em- 
blematic gem  ! )  which  cast  light  into  many  of  the  darkest 
corners  of  human  nature.  She  loved  me,  too,  though 
not  so  much,  because  her  nature  was  "less  high,  less 
grave,  less  large,  less  deep ;  "  but  she  loved  more  tenderly, 
less  passionately.  She  loved  me,  for  I  well  remember 
her  suffering  when  she  first  could  feel  my  faults,  and 
knew  one  part  of  the  exquisite  veil  rent  away  —  how  she 
wished  to  stay  apart  and  weep  the  whole  day. 

These  thoughts  were  suggested  by  a  large  engraving 
representing  Madame  Recamier  in  her  boudoir.  I  have 
so  often  thought  over  the  intimacy  between  her  and 
Madame  de  Stael. 

Madame  Recamier  is  half-reclining  on  a  sofa ;  she  is 
clad  in  white  drapery,  which  clings  very  gracefully  to 
her  round,  but  elegantly-slender  form ;  her  beautiful  neck 
and  arms  are  bare ;  her  hair  knotted  up  so  as  to  show 
the  contour  of  her  truly-feminine  head  to  great  advantage. 
A  book  lies  carelessly  on  her  lap ;  one  hand  yet  holds 
it  at  the  place  where  she  left  off  reading ;  her  lovely  face 
is  turned  towards  us ;  she  appears  to  muse  on  what  she 
has  been  reading.  When  we  see  a  woman  in  a  picture 
with  a  book,  she  seems  to  be  doing  precisely  that  for 
which  she  was  born ;  the  book  gives  such  an  expression 
of  purity  to  the  female  figure.  A  large  window,  partially 
veiled  by  a  white  curtain,  gives  a  view  of  a  city  at  some 
little  distance.  On  one  side  stand  the  harp  and  piano  ; 
there  are  just  books  enough  for  a  lady's  boudoir.  There 
is  no  picture,   except  one  of  De  Recamier  herself,   as 


344  MISCELLANIES. 

Corinne.  This  is  absurd ;  but  the  absurdity  is  interest- 
ing, as  recalling  the  connection.  You  imagine  her  to 
have  been  reading  one  of  De  Stael's  books,  and  to  be 
now  pondering  what  those  brilliant  words  of  her  gifted 
friend  can  mean. 

Everything  in  the  room  is  in  keeping.  Nothing  ap- 
pears to  have  been  put  there  because  other  people  have 
it ;  but  there  is  nothing  w^hich  shows  a  taste  more  noble 
and  refined  than  you  would  expect  from  the  fair  French- 
T^oman.  All  is  elegant,  modern,  in  harmony  with  the 
delicate  habits  and  superficial  culture  which  you  would 
look  for  in  its  occupant. 


TO   HER   MOTHER. 

Sept.  5,  1837. 

^  ^  ^  ik  If  I  stay  in  Providence,  and  more  money 
is  wanting  than  can  otherwise  be  furnished,  I  will  take  a 
private  class,  which  is  ready  for  me,  and  by  which,  even 
if  I  reduced  my  terms  to  suit  the  place,  I  can  earn  the 

four  hundred  dollars  that will  need.     If  I  do  not 

stay,  I  will  let  her  have  my  portion  of  our  income,  with 
her  own,  or  even  capital  which  I  have  a  right  to  take  up, 
and  come  into  this  or  some  other  economical  place,  and 
live  at  the  cheapest  rate.  It  will  not  be  even  a  sacrifice 
to  me  to  do  so,  for  I  am  weary  of  society,  and  long  for 
the  opportunity  for  solitary  concentration  of  thought.  I 
know  what  I  say ;  if  I  live,  you  may  rely  upon  me. 

God  be  with  you,  my  dear  mother !  I  am  sure  he 
will  prosper  the  doings  of  so  excellent  a  woman  if  you 


LETTER   TO    M.  345 

•will  only  keep  your  mind  calm  and  be  firm.  Trust 
your  daugliter  too.  I  feel  increasing  trust  in  mine  own 
good  mind.  We  will  take  good  care  of  the  children  and 
of  one  another.  Never  fear  to  trouble  me  with  your 
perplexities.  I  can  never  be  so  situated  that  I  do  not 
earnestly  wish  to  know  them.  Besides,  things  do  not 
trouble  me  as  they  did,  for  I  feel  within  myself  the 
power  to  aid,  to  serve. 

Most  afiectionately, 

Your  daughter,  M. 


PART   OF   LETTER   TO    M. 

Providence,  Oct  7,  1838. 

*  *  *     For  yourself,  dear ,  you  have  attained 

an  important  age.  No  plan  is  desirable  for  you  which  is 
to  be  pursued  with  precision.  The  world,  the  events  of 
every  day,  which  no  one  can  predict,  are  to  be  your 
teachers,  and  you  must,  in  some  degree,  give  yourself 
up,  and  submit  to  be  led  captive,  if  you  would  learn 
from  them.  Principle  must  be  at  the  helm,  but  thought 
must  shift  its  direction  with  the  winds  and  waves. 

Happy  as  you  are  thus  far  in  worthy  friends,  you  are 
not  in  much  danger  of  rash  intimacies  or  great  errors.  I 
think,  upon  the  whole,  quite  highly  of  your  judgment 
about  people  and  conduct ;  for,  though  your  first  feelings 
are  often  extravagant,  they  are  soon  balanced. 

I  do  not  know  ct  ler  faults  in  you  beside  that  want  of 
retirement  of  mind  which  I  have  before  spoken  of.  If 
M and  A want  too  much  seclusion,  and  are  too 


346  MISCELLANIES. 

severe  in  their  views  of  life  and  man,  I  think  you  are  too 
little  bO.  There  is  nothing  so  fatal  to  the  finer  faculties 
as  too  ready  or  too  extended  a  publicity.  There  is  some 
danger  lest  there  be  no  real  religion  in  the  heart  which 
craves  too  much  of  daily  sympathy.  Through  your 
mind  the  stream  of  life  has  coursed  with  such  rapidity 
that  it  has  often  swept  away  the  seed  or  loosened  the 
roots  of  the  young  plants  before  they  had  ripened  any 
fruit. 

I  should  think  writing  would  be  very  good  for  you. 
A  journal  of  your  life,  and  analyses  of  your  thoughts, 
would  teach  you  how  to  generalize,  and  give  firmness  to 
your  conclusions.  Do  not  write  down  merely  that 
things  are  beautiful,  or  the  reverse ;  but  what  they  are, 
and  why  they  are  beautiful  or  otherwise ;  and  show  these 
papers,  at  least  at  present,  to  nobody.  Be  your  own 
judge  and  your  own  helper.  Do  not  go  too  soon  to  any 
one  with  your  difiiculties,  but  try  to  clear  them  up  for 
yourself 

I  think  the  course  of  reading  you  have  fallen  upon,  of 
late,  will  be  better  for  you  than  such  books  as  you  for- 
merly read,  addressed  rather  to  the  taste  and  imagina- 
tion than  the  judgment.  The  love  of  beauty  has  rather 
an  undue  development  in  your  mind.  See  now  what  it 
is,  and  what  it  has  been.  Leave  for  a  time  the  Ideal, 
and  return  to  the  Real. 

I  should  think  two  or  three  hours  a  day  would  be 
quite  enough^  at  present,  for  you  to  give  to  books.  Now 
learn  buying  and  selling,  keeping  the  house,  directing 
the  servants ;  all  that  will  bring  you  worlds  of  wisdom 


TO    HER  BROTHER.  347 

if  you  keep  it  subordinate  to  the  one  grand  aim  of  per- 
fecting the  whole  being.  And  let  your  self-respect  for- 
bid you  to  do  imperfectly  anything  that  you  do  at  all. 

I  always  feel  ashamed  when  I  write  with  this  air  of 
wisdom ;  but  you  will  see,  by  my  hints,  what  I  mean. 
Your  mind  wants  depth  and  precision ;  your  character 
condensation.     Keep  your  high  aim  steadily  in  view ;  life 

will  open  the  path  to  reach  it.     I  think ,  9?en  if 

she  be  in  excess,  is  an  excellent  friend  for  you ;  her  char- 
acter seems  to  have  what  yours  wants,  whether  she  has  or 
has  not  found  the  right  way. 


Providenccy  Feb.  19,  1838 

My  dear  a.  : 

*  :^  *  *  * 

I  wish  you  could  see  the  journals  of  two  dear  littlo 
girls,  eleven  years  old,  in  my  school.  They  love  one 
another  like  Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray  in  the  ballad. 
They  are  just  of  a  size,  both  lively  as  birds,  affectionate, 
gentle,  ambitious  in  good  works  and  knowledge.  They 
encourage  one  another  constantly  to  do  right ;  they  are 
rivals,  but  never  jealous  of  one  another.  One  has  the 
quicker  intellect,  the  other  is  the  prettier.  I  have  never 
had  occasion  to  find  fault  with  either,  and  the  forward- 
ness of  their  minds  has  induced  me  to  take  both  into  my 
reading-class,  where  they  are  associated  with  girls  many 
years  their  elders.     Particular  pains  do  they  take  with 


348  MISCELLANIES. 

their  journals.  These  are  written  daily,  in  a  beautiful, 
fair,  round  hand,  well-composed,  showing  attention,  and 
memory  well-trained,  with  many  pleasing  sallies  of  play- 
fulness, and  some  very  interesting  thoughts. 


TO    THE   SAME. 

Jamaica  Plain,  Dec.  20,  1840. 

*  *  *  *  About  your  school  I  do  not  think  I  could 
give  you  much  advice  which  would  be  of  value,  unless  I 
could  know  your  position  more  in  detail.  The  most  im- 
portant rule  is.  in  all  relations  with  our  fellow-creatures, 
never  forget  that,  if  they  are  imperfect  persons,  they  are 
immortal  souls,  and  treat  them  as  you  would  wish  to  be 
treated  by  the  light  of  that  thought. 

As  to  the  application  of  means,  abstain  from  punish- 
ment as  much  as  possible,  and  use  encouragement  as  far 
as  you  can  without  flattery.  But  be  even  more  careful 
as  to  strict  truth  in  this  regard,  towards  children,  than  to 
persons  of  your  own  age ;  for,  to  the  child,  the  parent 
or  teacher  is  the  representative  of  justice ;  and  as  that 
of  life  is  severe,  an  education  which,  in  any  degree, 
excites  vanity,  is  the  very  worst  preparation  for  that 
general  and  crowded  school. 

I  doubt  not  you  will  teach  grammar  well,  as  I  saw 
you  aimed  at  principles  in  your  practice. 

In  geography,  try  to  make  pictures  of  the  scenes,  that 
they  may  be  present  to  their  imaginations,  and  the  nobler 
faculties  be  brought  into  action,  as  well  as  memory. 


TO   HER   BROTHER.  349 

In  history,  try  to  study  and  paint  the  characters  of 
great  inea ;  they  best  interpret  the  leadings  of  events 
amid  the  nations. 

I  am  pleased  with  your  way  of  speaking  of  both  people 
and  pupils  ;  your  view  seems  from  the  right  point.  Yet 
beware  of  over  great  pleasure  in  being  popular,  or  even 
beloved.  As  far  as  an  amiable  disposition  and  powers 
of  entertainment  make  you  so,  it  is  a  happiness ;  but  if 
there  is  one  grain  of  plausibility,  it  is  poison. 

But  I  will  not  play  Mentor  too  much,  lest  I  make  you 
averse  to  write  to  your  very  affectionate  sister,         M. 


I  ENTIRELY  agree  in  what  you  say  of  tuition  and  intui- 
tion ;  .the  two  must  act  and  react  upon  one  another,  to 
make  a  man,  to  form  a  mind.  Drudgery  is  as  necessary, 
to  call  out  the  treasures  of  the  mind,  as  harrowing  and 
planting  those  of  the  earth.  And  besides,  the  growths 
of  literature  and  art  are  as  much  nature  as  the  trees  in 
Concord  woods ;  but  nature  idealized  and  perfected. 


TO   THE   SAME. 

1841. 

I  TAKE  great  pleasure  in  that  feeling  of  the  living  pres- 
ence of  beauty  in  nature  which  your  letters  show.     But 
you,  who  have  now  lived  long  enough  to  see  some  of  my 
prophecies  fulfilled,  will  not  deny,  though  you  may  not 
SO 


350  MISCELLANIES. 

yet  Relieve  the  truth  of  my  words  when  I  say  you  go  to 
an  extreme  in  your  denunciations  of  cities  and  the  social 
institutions.  These  are  a  growth  also,  and,  as  well  as 
the  diseases  which  come  upon  them,  under  the  control  of 
the  one  spirit  as  much  as  the  great  tree  on  which  the 
insects  prey,  and  in  whose  bark  the  busy  bird  has  made 
many  a  wound. 

When  we  get  the  proper  perspective  of  these  things  we 
shall  find  man,  however  artificial,  still  a  part  of  nature. 
Meanwhile,  let  us  trust ;  and  while  it  is  the  soul's  duty 
ever  to  bear  witness  to  the  best  it  knows,  let  us  not  be 
hasty  to  conclude  that  in  what  suits  us  not  there  can  be 
no  good.  Let  us  be  sure  there  must  be  eventual  good, 
could  we  but  see  far  enough  to  discern  it.  In  maintain- 
ing perfect  truth  to  ourselves  and  choosing  that  mode  of 
being  which  suits  us,  we  had  best  leave  others  alone  as 
much  as  may  be.  You  prefer  the  country,  and  I  doubt 
not  it  is  on  the  whole  a  better  condition  of  life  to  live 
there ;  but  at  the  country  party  you  have  mentioned 
you  saw  that  no  circumstances  will  keep  people  from 
being  frivolous.  One  may  be  gossipping,  and  vulgar, 
and  idle  in  the  country, —  earnest,  noble  and  wise,  in 
the  city.  Nature  cannot  be  kept  from  us  while  there  is 
a  sky  above,  with  so  much  as  one  star  to  remind  us  of 
prayer  in  the  silent  night. 

As  I  walked  home  this  evening  at  sunset,  over  the 
Mill-Dam,  towards  the  city,  I  saw  very  distinctly  that 
the  city  also  is  a  bed  in  God's  garden.  More  of  this 
some  other  time. 


TO   A   YOUNG   FRIEND.  351 


TO   A   YOUNG   FRIEND. 

Concord,  May  2,  1837. 

My  Dear  :  I  am  passing  happy  here,  except  that  I 
am  not  well, —  so  unwell  that  I  fear  I  must  go  home  and 
ask  my  good  mother  to  let  me  rest  and  vegetate  beneath 
her  sunny  kindness  for  a  while.  The  excitement  of  con- 
versation prevents  my  sleeping.     The  drive  here  with 

Mr.  E was  delightful.     Dear  Nature  and  Time,  so 

often  calumniated,  will  take  excellent  care  of  us  if  we  will 
let  them.  The  wisdom  lies  in  schooling  the  heart  not  to 
expect  too  much.  I  did  that  good  thing  when  I  came 
here,  and  I  am  rich.  On  Sunday  I  drove  to  Watertown 
with  the  author  of  "  Nature."  The  trees  were  still  bare, 
but  the  little  birds  care  not  for  that ;  they  revel,  and 
carol,  and  wildly  tell  their  hopes,  while  the  gentle, 
''  voluble  "  south  wind  plays  with  the  dry  leaves,  and 
the  pine-trees  sigh  with  their  soul-like  sounds  for  June. 
It  was  beauteous  ;  and  care  and  routine  fled  away,  and  1 
was  as  if  they  had  never  been,  except  that  I  vaguely 
■whispered  to  myself  that  all  had  been  well  with  me. 

T^  T^  TV  TV  -TV  'TV 

The  baby  here  is  beautiful.  He  looks  like  his  father, 
and  smiles  so  sweetly  on  all  hearty,  good  people.  I 
play  with  him  a  good  deal,  and  he  comes  so  natural, 
after  Dante  and  other  poets. 

Ever  faithfully  your  friend. 


352  MISCELLANIES. 


TO    THE   SAME. 

1837. 

My  BELOVED  Child  :  I  was  very  glad  to  get  your 
note.  Do  not  think  you  must  only  write  to  your  friends 
when  you  can  tell  them  you  are  happy ;  they  will  not 
misunderstand  you  in  the  dark  hour,  nor  think  you  for- 
saken^ if  cast  down.  Though  your  letter  of  Wednesday 
was  very  sweet  to  me,  yet  I  knew  it  could  not  last  as  it 
was  then.  These  hours  of  heavenly,  heroic  strength 
leave  us,  but  they  come  again  :  their  memory  is  with  us 
amid  after-trials,  and  gives  us  a  foretaste  of  that  era 
when  the  steadfast  soul  shall  be  the  only  reality. 

My  dearest,  you  must  suffer,  but  you  will  always  be 
growing  stronger,  and  with  every  trial  nobly  met,  you 
will  feel  a  growing  assurance  that  nobleness  is  not  a 
mere  sentiment  with  you.  I  sympathize  deeply  in  your 
anxiety  about  your  mother ;  yet  I  cannot  but  remember 
the  bootless  fear  and  agitation  about  my  mother,  and 
how  strangely  our  destinies  were  guided.  Take  refuge 
in  prayer  when  you  are  most  troubled ;  the  door  of  the 
sanctuary  will  never  be  shut  against  you.  I  send  you  a 
paper  which  is  very  sacred  to  me.  Bless  Heaven  that 
your  heart  is  awakened  to  sacred  duties  before  any  kind 
of  gentle  ministering  has  become  impossible,  before  any 
relation  has  been  broken.^* 

*  It  has  always  been  my  de«h'e  to  find  appropriate  time  and  place  to 
correct  an  erroneous  impression  which  has  gained  currency  in  regard 
to  my  father,'  and  which  does  injustice  to  his  memory.  That  impres- 
sion is  that  he  was  exceedingly  stern  and  exacting  in  the  parental 
relation,  and  especially  in  regard  to  my  sister  ;  that  he  forbid  or 


LINES.  353 


LINES  WRITTEN  IN  MARCH,  1836. 

"  I  will  not  leave  you  comfortless." 

0,  Friend  divine  !  this  promise  dear 
Falls  sweetly  on  the  weary  ear  ! 
Often,  in  hours  of  sickening  pain, 
It  soothes  me  to  thy  rest  again. 

frowned  upon  her  sports  ;  —  excluded  her  from  intercourse  with  other 
children  when  she,  a  child,  needed  such  companionship,  and  required 
her  to  bend  almost  unceasingly  over  her  books.  This  impression  has, 
certainly  in  part,  arisen  from  an  autobiographical  sketch,  never  written 
for  publication  nor  intended  for  a  literal  or  complete  statement  of  her 
father's  educational  method,  or  the  relation  which  existed  between 
them,  which  was  most  loving  and  true  on  both  sides.  While  the 
narrative  is  true,  it  is  not  the  all  she  would  have  said,  and,  therefore, 
taken  alone,  conveys  an  impression  which  misleads  those  who  did  not 
know  our  father  well.  Perhaps  no  better  opportimity  or  place  than 
this  may  ever  arise  to  correct  this  impression  so  far  as  it  is  wrong.  It 
is  true  that  my  father  had  a  very  high  standard  of  scholarship,  and 
did  expect  conformity  to  it  in  his  children.  He  was  not  stern  toward 
them. 

It  is  doubtless  true,  also,  that  he  did  not  perfectly  comprehend  the 
rare  mind  of  his  daughter,  or  see  for  some  years  that  she  required  no 
stimulating  to  intellectual  effort,  as  do  most  children,  but  rather  the 
reverse.  But  how  many  fathers  are  there  who  would  have  understood 
at  once  such  a  child  as  Margaret  Fuller  was,  or  would  have  done  even 
as  wisely  as  he  ?  And  how  long  is  it  since  a  wiser  era  has  dawned  upon 
the  world  (its  light  not  yet  fully  welcomed),  in  which  attention  first  to 
physical  development  to  the  exclusion  of  the  mental,  is  an  axiom  in  edu- 
cation ?  Was  it  so  deemed  forty  years  ago  ?  Nor  has  it  been  considered 
that  so  gifted  a  child  would  naturally,  as  she  did,  seek  the  companion- 
ship of  those  older  than  herself,  and  not  of  children  who  had  little  in 
unison  with  her.  She  needed,  doubtless,  to  be  urged  into  the  usual 
sports  of  children,  and  the  company  of  those  of  her  own  age  ;  if  n<d 

30* 


854  MISCELLANIES. 

Might  I  a  true  disciple  be, 
Following  thy  footsteps  faithfully, 
Then  should  I  still  the  succor  prove 
Of  him  who  gave  his  life  for  love. 

When  this  fond  heart  would  vainly  beat 
For  bliss  that  ne'er  on  earth  we  meet. 
For  perfect  sympathy  of  soul, 
From  those  such  heavy  laws  control ; 

When,  roused  from  passion's  ecstasy, 
I  see  the  dreams  that  filled  it  fly. 
Amid  my  bitter  tears  and  sighs 
Those  gentle  words  before  me  rise. 

urged  to  enter  these  she  was  never  excluded  from  either.  She  needed 
to  be  kept  from  books  for  a  period,  or  to  be  led  to  those  of  a  lighter 
cast  than  such  as  she  read,  and  which  usually  task  the  thoughts 
of  mature  men.  This  simply  was  not  done,  and  the  error  arose  from 
no  lack  of  tenderness,  or  consideration,  from  no  lack  of  the  wisdom  of 
those  times,  but  from  the  simple  fact  that  the  laws  of  physiology  as 
connected  with  those  of  mind  were  not  understood  then  as  now,  nor 
was  attention  so  much  directed  to  physical  culture  as  of  the  primary 
importance  it  is  now  regarded.  Our  father  was  indeed  exact  and 
strict  with  himself  and  others  ;  but  none  has  ever  been  more  devoted  to 
his  children  than  he,  or  more  painstaking  with  their  education,  nor 
more  fondly  loved  them  ;  and  in  later  life  they  have  ever  been  more 
and  more  impressed  with  the  conviction  of  his  fidelity  and  wisdom. 
That  Margaret  venerated  her  father,  and  that  his  love  was  returned,  is 
abundantly  evidenced  in  her  poem  which  accompanies  this  letter.  This, 
too,  was  not  written  for  the  public  eye,  but  it  is  too  noble  a  tribute, 
too  honorable  both  to  father  and  daughter,  to  be  suppressed.  I  trust 
that  none,  passing  from  one  extreme  to  the  other,  will  infer  from  the 
natural  self-reproach  and  upbraiding  because  of  short-comings,  felt  by 
every  true  mind  when  an  honored  and  loved  parent  departs,  that  she 
lacked  fidelity  in  the  relation  of  daughter.  She  agreed  not  always 
with  his  views  and  methods,  but  this  diversity  of  mind  never  afiected 
their  mutual  respect  and  love.  —  [Ed.] 


LINES.  855 

With  aching  brows  and  feverish  brain 
The  founts  of  intellect  I  drain, 
And  con  with  over-anxious  thought 
What  poets  sung  and  heroes  wrought. 

Enchanted  with  their  deeds  and  lays, 
I  with  like  gems  would  deck  my  days  ; 
No  fires  creative  in  me  burn, 
And,  humbled,  I  to  Thee  return  ; 

When  blackest  clouds  around  me  rolled 

Of  scepticism  drear  and  cold. 

When  love,  and  hope,  and  joy  and  pride, 

Forsook  a  spirit  deeply  tried  ; 

• 
My  reason  wavered  in  that  hour, 

Prayer,  too  impatient,  lost  its  power  ; 

From  thy  benignity  a  ray 

I  caught,  and  found  the  perfect  day. 

A  head  revered  in  dust  was  laid  ; 
For  the  first  time  I  watched  my  dead  ; 
The  widow's  sobs  were  checked  in  vain. 
And  childhood's  tears  poured  down  like  rain. 

In  awe  I  gaze  on  that  dear  face, 
In  sorrow,  years  gone  by  retrace. 
When,  nearest  duties  most  forgot, 
I  might  have  blessed,  and  did  it  not ! 

Ignorant,  his  wisdom  I  reproved, 
Heedless,  passed  by  what  most  he  loved, 
Knew  not  a  life  like  his  to  prize. 
Of  ceaseless  toil  and  sacrifice. 

No  tears  can  now  that  hushed  heart  move, 
No  cares  display  a  daughter's  love, 


856  MISCELLANIES. 

The  fair  occasion  lost,  no  more 

Can  thoughts  more  just  to  thee  restore. 

What  can  I  do  ?    And  how  atone 
For  all  I  've  done,  and  left  undone  ? 
Tearful  I  search  the  parting  words 
Which  the  beloved  John  records. 

"  Not  comfortless  !  "     I  dry  my  eyes, 
My  duties  clear  before  me  rise,  — 
Before  thou  think'st  of  taste  or  pride, 
See  home-affections  satisfied ! 

Be  not  with  generous  thoughts  content, 
But  on  well-doing  constant  bent : 
•     When  self  seems  dear,  self-seeking  fair, 
Remember  this  sad  hour  in  prayer  ! 

Though  all  thou  wishest  fly  thy  touch, 
Much  can  one  do  who  loveth  much. 
More  of  thy  spirit,  Jesus  give, 
Not  comfortless,  though  sad,  to  live. 

And  yet  not  sad,  if  I  can  know 
To  copy  Him  who  here  below 
Sought  but  to  do  his  Father's  will, 
Though  from  such  sweet  composure  still 

My  heart  be  far.     Wilt  thou  not  aid 
One  whose  best  hopes  on  thee  are  stayed  ? 
Breathe  into  me  thy  perfect  love, 
And  guide  me  to  thy  rest  above  ! 


*     *     #     Mr.  Keats,  Emma's  father,  is  dead.     To 
me  this  brings  unusual  sorrow,  though  I  have  never  yet 


TO    A   YOUNG   FRIEND.  357 

Been  him  ;  but  I  thought  of  him  as  one  of  the  very  few 
persons  known  to  me  by  reputation,  whose  acquaintance 
might  enrich  me.  BQs  character  was  a  sufficient  answer 
to  the  doubt,  whether  a  merchant  can  be  a  man  of  honor. 
He  was,  like  your  father,  a  man  all  whose  virtues  had 
stood  the  test.     He  was  no  word-hero. 

*  ^  ^  ^ 


TO   A   YOUNG   FRIEND. 

Providence,  June  16,  1837. 

My  dear :     I  pray  you,  amid   all  your  duties, 

to  keep  some  hours  to  yourself  Do  not  let  my  example 
lead  you  into  excessive  exertions.  I  pay  (Tear  for 
extravagance  of  this  sort ;  five  years  ago  I  had  no  idea 
of  the  languor  and  want  of  animal  spirits  which  torment 
me  now.  Animal  spirits  are  not  to  be  despised.  An 
earnest  mind  and  seeking  heart  will  not  often  be 
troubled  by  despondency;  but  unless  the  blood  can 
dance  at  proper  times,  the  lighter  passages  of  life  lose  all 
their  refreshment  and  suggestion. 

I  wish  you  and had  been  here  last  Saturday. 

Our  school-house  was  dedicated,  and  Mr.  Emerson  made 
the  address ;  it  was  a  noble  appeal  in  behalf  of  the  best 
interests  of  culture,  and  seemingly  here  was  fit  occasion. 
The  building  was  beautiful,  and  furnished  with  an  even 
elegant  propriety. 

I  am  at  perfect  liberty  to  do  what  I  please,  and  there  are 
apparently  the  best  dispositions,  if  not  the  best  prepara- 
tion, on  the  part  of  the  hundied  and  fifty  young  minds 
with  whom  I  am  to  be  brought  in  contact. 


358  MISCELLANIES. 

I  sigh  for  the  country ;  trees,  birds  and  flowers,  assure 
me  that  June  is  here,  but  I  must  walk  through  streets 
many  and  long,  to  get  sight  of  any  expanse  of  green.  I 
had  no  fine  weather  while  at  home,  though  the  quiet  and 
rest  were  delightful  to  me ;  the  sun  did  not  shine  once 
really  warmly,  nor  did  the  apple-trees  put  on  their  "blos- 
soms until  the  very  day  I  came  away. 


SONNET. 

TO    THE   SAME. 


Although  the  sweet,  still  watches  of  the  night 
Find  me  all  lonely  now,  yet  the  delight 
Hath  not  quite  gone,  which  from  thy  presence  flows. 
The  love,  the  joy  that  in  thy  bosom  glows, 
Lingers  to  cheer  thy  friend.     From  thy  fresh  dawn 
Some  golden  exhalations  have  I  drawn 
To  make  less  dim  my  dusty  noon.     Thy  tones 
Are  with  me  still ;  some  plaintive  as  the  moans 
Of  Dryads,  when  their  native  groves  must  fall, 
Some  wildly  wailing,  like  the  clarion-call 
On  battle-field,  strewn  with  the  noble  dead. 
Some  in  soft  romance,  like  the  echoes  bred 
In  the  most  secret  groves  of  Arcady  ; 
Yet  all,  wild,  sad,  or  soft,  how  steeped  in  poesy  ! 
Provideme,  April,  1838. 


TO   THE   SAME. 

Providence,  Oct.  21,  1838. 
*     *     :*     ^     I  AM  reminded  by  what  you  say,  of  an 
era  in  my  own  existence  ;  it  is  seven  years  bygone.     For 


TO    A   YOUNG  FRIEND.  359 

bitter  months  a  heavy  weight  had  been  pressing  on  me, — • 
the  weight  of  deceived  friendship.  I  could  not  be  much 
alone, —  a  great  burden  of  family  cares  pressed  upon  me ; 
I  was  in  the  midst  of  society,  and  obliged  to  act  my  part 
there  as  well  as  I  could.  At  that  time  I  took  up  the 
study  of  German,  and  my  progress  was  like  the  rebound 
of  a  string  pressed  almost  to  bursting.  My  mind  being 
then  in  the  highest  state  of  action,  heightened,  by  intel- 
lectual appreciation,  every  pang;  and  imagination,  by 
prophetic  power,  gave  to  the  painfiil  present  all  the 
weight  of  as  painful  a  future. 

At  this  time  I  never  had  any  consolation,  except  in 
long  solitary  walks,  and  my  meditations  then  were  so  far 
aloof  from  common  life,' that  on  my  return  my  fall  was 
like  that  of  the  eagle,  which  the  sportsman's  hand  calls 
bleeding  from  his  lofty  flight,  to  stain  the  earth  with  his 
blood. 

In  such  hours  we  feel  so  noble,  so  full  of  love  and 
bounty,  that  we  cannot  conceive  how  any  pain  should 
have  been  needed  to  teach  us.  It  then  seems  we  are  so 
born  for  good,  that  such  means  of  leading  us  to  it  were 
wholly  unnecessary.  But  I  have  lived  to  know  that  the 
secret  of  all  things  is  pain,  and  that  nature  travaileth 
most  painfully  with  her  noblest  product.  I  was  not  with- 
out hours  of  deep  spiritual  insight,  and  consciousness  of 
the  inheritance  of  vast  powers.  I  touched  the  secret  of 
the  universe,  and  by  that  touch  was  invested  with  talis- 
manic  power  which  has  never  left  me,  though  it  some- 
times lies  dormant  for  a  long  time. 

One  day  lives  always  in  my  memory ;  one  chastest, 


TH^ 


360  MISCELLANIES. 

lieavenliest  day  of  communion  with  the  soul  of  things. 
It  was  Thanksgiving-day.  I  was  free  to  be  alone  ;  in  the 
meditative  woods,  by  the  choked-up  fountain,  I  passed  its 
hours,  each  of  which  contained  ages  of  thought  and  emo- 
tion. I  saw,  then,  how  idle  were  my  griefs ;  that  I  had 
acquired  the  thought  of  each  object  which  had  been  taken 
from  me ;  that  more  extended  personal  relations  would 
only  have  given  me  pleasures  which  then  seemed  not 
worth  my  care,  and  which  would  surely  have  dimmed  my 
sense  of  the  spiritual  meaning  of  all  which  had  passed. 
I  felt  how  true  it  was  that  nothing  in  any  being  which 
was  fit  for  me,  could  long  be  kept  from  me ;  and  that,  if 
separation  could  be,  real  intimacy  had  never  been.  All 
the  films  seemed  to  drop  from  my  existence,  and  I  was 
sure  that  I  should  never  starve  in  this  desert  world,  but 
that  manna  would  drop  from  Heaven,  if  I  would  but  rise 
with  every  rising  sun  to  gather  it. 

In  the  evening  I  went  to  the  church-yard ;  the  moon 
sailed  above  the  rosy  clouds, —  the  crescent  moon  rose 
above  the  heavenward-pointing  spire.  At  that  hour  a 
vision  came  upon  my  soul,  whose  final  scene  last  month 
interpreted.  The  rosy  clouds  of  illusion  are  all  vanished ; 
the  moon  has  waxed  to  full.  May  my  life  be  a  church, 
full  of  devout  thoughts  and  solemn  music.  I  pray  thus, 
my  dearest  child !  ''  Our  Father  !  let  not  the  heaviest 
shower  be  spared ;  let  not  the  gardener  forbear  his  knife 
till  the  fair,  hopeful  tree  of  existence  be  brought  to  its 
fullest  blossom  and  fruit !  " 


TO   THE   SAME.  361 

TO   THE   SAME. 

Jamaica  Plairiy  June,  1839. 

*  *  *  I  HAVE  had  a  pleasant  visit  at  Naliant, 
but  was  no  sooner  there  than  the  air  braced  me  so 
violently  as  to  drive  all  the  blood  to  my  head.  I  had 
headache  two  of  the  three  days  we  were  there,  and  yet  I 
enjoyed  my  stay  very  much.  We  had  the  rocks  and 
piazzas  to  ourselves,  and  were  on  sufficiently  good  terms 
not  to  destroy,  if  we  could  not  enhance,  one  another's 
pleasure. 

The  first  night  we  had  a  stoi-m,  and  the  wind  roared 
and  wailed"  round  the  house  that  Ossianic  poetry  of 
which  you  hear  so  many  strains.  Next  day  was  clear 
jmd  brilliant,  with  a  high  north-west  wind.  I  went  out 
about  six  o'clock,  and  had  a  two  hours'  scramble  before 
breakfast.  I  do  not  like  to  sit  still  in  this  air,  which 
exasperates  all  my  nervous  feelings ;  but  when  I  can  ex- 
haust myself  in  climbing,  I  feel  delightfully, —  the  eye  is 
so  sharpened,  and  the  mind  so  full  of  thought.  The 
outlines  of  all  objects,  the  rocks,  the  distant  sails,  even 
the  rippling  of  the  ocean,  were  so  sharp  that  they  seemed 
to  press  themselves  into  the  brain.  When  I  see  a  natural 
scene  by  such  a  light  it  stays  in  my  memory  always  as 
a  picture ;  on  milder  days  it  influences  me  more  in  the 
way  of  reverie.  After  breakfast,  we  walked  on  the 
beaclies.  It  was  quite  low  tide,  no  waves,  and  the  fine 
sand  eddying  wildly  about.  I  came  home  with  that 
frenzied  headache  which  you  are  so  unlucky  as  to  know, 
covered  my  head  with  wet  tOAvels,  and  went  to  bed.  After 
31 


362  MISCELLANIES. 

(liuiier  I  was  better,  and  we  went  to  the  Spou:jig-horn. 

C was  perched  close  to  the  fissure,  far  above  me^ 

and,  in  a  pale  green  dress,  she  looked  like  the  njmpL 
of  the  place.  I  lay  down  on  a  rock,  low  in  the  water, 
where  I  could  hear  the  twin  harmonies  of  the  sucking  of 
the  w&ter  into  the  spout,  and  the  washing  of  the  surge 
on  the  foot  of  the  rock.  I  never  passed  a  more  delight- 
ful afternoon.  Clouds  of  pearl  and  amber  were  slowly 
drifting  across  the  sky,  or  resting  a  while  to  dream,  like 
me,  near  the  water.  Opposite  me,  at  considerable  dis- 
tance, was  a  line  of  rock,  along  which  the  billows  of  the 
advancing  tide  chased  one  another,  and  leaped  up  exult- 
ingly  as  they  were  about  to  break.  That  night  we  had 
a  sunset  of  the  gorgeous,  autumnal  kind,  and  in  the 
evening  very  brilliant  moonlight ;  but  the  air  was  so  cold 
I  could  enjoy  it  but  a  few  minutes.  Next  day,  which 
was  warm  and  soft,  I  was  out  on  the  rocks  all  day.  In 
the  afternoon  I  was  out  alone,  and  had  an  admirable 
place,  a  cleft  between  two  vast  towers  of  rock  with 
turret-shaped  tops.  I  got  on  a  ledge  of  rock  at  their 
foot,  where  I  could  lie  and  let  the  waves  wash  up  around 
me,  and  look  up  at  the  proud  turrets  rising  into  the 
prismatic  light.  This  evening  was  very  fine  ;  all  the  sky 
covered  with  crowding  clouds,  profound,  but  not  sullen 
of  mood,  the  moon  wading,  the  stars  peeping,  the  wind 
sighing  very  softly.  We  lay  on  the  high  rocks  and  lis- 
tened to  the  plashing  of  the  waves.  The  next  day  was 
good,  but  the  keen  light  was  too  much  for  my  eyes  and 
brain  ;  and,  though  I  am  glad  to  have  been  there,  I  am  as 
glad  to  get  back  to  our  garlanded  rocks,  and  richly-green 


TO    THE   SAME.  363 

fields  and  groves.     I  wish  you  could  come  to  me  now  ; 
we  have  such  wealth  of  roses. 


TO    THE   SAME. 


Jamaica  Plains  Aug.y  1839. 
*:***!  RETURNED  home  well,  full  of  earnest- 
ness ;  yet,  I  know  not  why,  with  the  sullen,  boding  sky 
came  a  mood  of  sadness,  nay,  of  gloom,  black  as  Hades, 
which  I  have  vainly  striven  to  fend  off  by  work,  by  exer- 
cise, by  high  memories.  Very  glad  was  I  of  a  painful 
piece  of  intelligence,  which  came  the  same  day  with  your 
letter,  to  bring  me  an  excuse  for  tears.  That  was  a  black 
Friday,  both  above  and  within.  What  demon  resists  our 
good  angel,  and  seems  at  such  times  to  have  the  mastery  ? 
Ovi\.j  seems ^  I  say  to  myself;  it  is  but  the  sickness  of 
the  immortal  soul,  and  shall  by-and-by  be  cast  aside 
like  a  film.  I  think  this  is  the  great  step  of  our  life, — 
to  change  the  nature  of  our  self-reliance.  We  find  that 
the  will  cannot  conquer  circumstances,  and  that  our  tem- 
poral nature  must  vary  its  hue  here  with  the  food  that  is 
given  it.  Only  out  of  mulberry  leaves  will  the  silk-wonn 
Bpin  its  thread  fine  and  durable.  The  mode  of  our  exist- 
ence is  not  in  our  own  power;  but  behind  it  is  the 
immutable  essence  that  cannot  be  tarnished ;  and  to  hold 
fast  to  this  conviction,  to  live  as  far  as  possible  by  its 
lidit,  cannot  be  denied  us  if  we  elect  this  kind  of  self- 
trust.  Yet  is  sickness  wearisome ;  and  I  rejoice  to  say 
that  my  demon  seems  to  have  been  frightened  away  by 


< 


864  MISCELLA:i^IE3. 

this  day's  sun.  But,  conscious  of  these  diseases  of  the 
mind,  believe  that  I  can  sympathize  with  a  friend  when 
subject  to  the  same.     Do  not  fail  to  go  and  stay  with 

;  few   live  so  penetrating  and  yet  so  kind,  so 

true,  so  sensitive.  She  is  the  spirit  of  love  as  well  as  of 
intellect.     *     *     *     * 


TO   THE   SAME. 

My  BELOVED  Child  :  I  confess  I  was  much  disap- 
pointed when  I  first  received  your  letter  this  evening.  I 
have  been  quite  ill  for  two  or  three  days,  and  looked  for- 
ward to  your  presence  as  a  restorative.  But  think  not  I 
would  have  had  you  act  differently ;  far  better  is  it  for 
me  to  have  my  child  faithful  to  duty  than  even  to  have 
her  with  me.  Such  was  the  lesson  I  taught  her  in  a 
better  hour.  I  am  abashed  to  think  how  often  lately  I 
have  found  excuses  for  indolence  in  the  weakness  of  my 
body;  while  now,  after  solitary  communion  with  my 
better  nature,  I  feel  it  was  weakness  of  mind,  weak  fear 
of  depression  and  conflict.  But  the  Father  of  our  spirits 
will  not  long  permit  a  heart  fit  for  worship 


to  seek 


From  weak  recoils,  exemptions  weak, 

After  false  gods  to  go  astray. 

Deck  altars  vile  with  garlands  gay,"  etc. 

His  voice  has  reached  me ;  and  I  trust  the  postpone- 
ment of  your  visit  will  give  me  space  to  nerve  myself  to 
what  strength  I  should,  so  that,  when  we  do  meet,  I  shall 
rejoice  that  you  did  not  come  to  help  or  soothe  me ;  for  I 


R.  365 

shall  have  helped  and  soothed  mjself.  Indeed,  I  would 
not  so  willinglj  that  you  should  see  mj  short-comings  as 
know  that  they  exist.  Pray  that  I  may  never  lose  sight 
of  my  vocation ;  that  I  may  not  make  ill-health  a  plea . 
for  sloth  and  cowardice;  pray  that,  whenever  I  do,  I 
may  be  punished  more  swiftly  than  this  time,  by  a  sad- 
ness as  deep  as  now. 


Cambridge,  August  5,  1842. 
My  dear  R.  :  I  want  to  hear  how  you  enjoyed  your 
journey,  and  what  you  think  of  the  world  as  surveyed 
from  mountain-tops.  I  enjoy  exceedingly  staying  among 
the  mountains.  I  am  satisfied  with  reading  these  bolder 
lines  in  the  manuscript  of  Nature.  Merely  gentle  and 
winning  scenes  are  not  enough  for  me.  I  wish  my  lot 
had  been  cast  amid  the  sources  of  the  streams,  where  the 
voice  of  the  hidden  torrent  is  heard  by  night,  where  the 
eagle  soars,  and  the  thunder  resounds  in  long  peals  from 
side  to  side ;  where  the  grasp  of  a  more  powerful  emotion 
has  rent  asunder  the  rocks,  and  the  long  purple  shadows 
fall  like  a  broad  wing  upon  the  valley.  All  places,  like 
all  persons,  I  know,  have  beauty;  but  only  in  some 
scenes,  and  with  some  people,  can  I  expand  and  feel  my- 
self at  home.  I  feel  all  this  the  more  for  having  passed 
my  earlier  life  in  such  a  place  as  Cambridgeport.  There 
I  had  nothing  except  the  little  flower-garden  behind  the 
house,  and  the  elms  before  the  door.  I  used  to  long  and 
sigh  for  beautiful  places  such  as  I  read  of  There  was 
31* 


866  MISCELLANIES. 

not  one  ^alk  foi'  me,  except  over  the  bridge.  I  liked 
that  very  much,  —  the  river,  and  the  city  glittering  in 
sunset,  and  the  lovely  undulating  line  all  round,  and  the 
light  smokes,  seen  in  some  weather. 


LETTER   TO    THE   SAME. 

Milwaukie,  July  29,  1843. 

Dear  R.  :  *  *  *  Daily  I  thought  of  you  during  my 
visit  to  the  Rock-river  territory.  It  is  only  five  years 
since  the  poor  Indians  have  been  dispossessed  of  this 
region  of  sumptuous  loveliness,  such  as  can  hardly  be 
paralleled  in  the  world.  No  wonder  they  poured  out 
their  blood  freely  before  they  would  go.  On  one  island, 
belonging  to  a  Mr.  H.,  with  whom  we  stayed,  are  still  to 
be  found  their  "caches"  for  secreting  provisions, — the 
wooden  troughs  in  which  they  pounded  their  corn,  the 
marks  of  their  tomahawks  upon  felled  trees.  When  he 
first  came,  he  found  the  body  of  an  Indian  woman,  in  a 
canoe,  elevated  on  high  poles,  with  all  her  ornaments  on. 
This  island  is  a  spot,  where  Nature  seems  to  have  ex- 
hausted her  invention  in  crowding  it  with  all  kinds  of 
growths,  from  the  richest  trees  down  to  the  most  delicate 
plants.  It  divides  the  river  which  there  sweeps  along  in 
clear  and  glittering  current,  between  noble  parks,  richest 
green  la^vN  ns,  pictured  rocks  crowned  with  old  hemlocks, 
or  smooth  bluffs,  three  hundred  feet  high,  the  most  beau- 
tiful of  all;  Two  of  these,  —  the  Eagle's  Nest,  and  the 
Deer's  Walk,  still  the  resort  of  the  grand  and  beautiful 
creature  from  which  they  are  named,  —  were  the  scene  of 


TO   MISS   R.  367 

8)me  of  the  happiest  hours  of  my  life.  I  had  no  idea, 
from  verbal  description,  of  the  beauty  of  these  bluffs,  nor 
can  I  hope  to  give  any  to  others.  They  lie  so  magnifi- 
cently bathed  in  sunlight,  they  touch  the  heavens  with  so 
sharp  and  fair  a  line.  This  is  one  of  the  finest  parts  of 
the  river;  but  it  seems  beautiful  enough  to  fill  any 
heart  and  eye  all  along  its  course,  nowhere  broken  or 
injured  by  the  hand  of  man.  And  there,  I  thought,  if 
we  two  could  live,  and  you  could  have  a  farm  which 
would  not  cost  a  twentieth  part  the  labor  of  a  New  Eng- 
land farm,  and  would  pay  twenty  times  as  much  for  the 
labor,  and  have  our  books  and  our  pens  and  a  little  boat 
on  the  river,  how  happy  we  might  be  for  four  or  five 
years,  —  at  least,  as  happy  as  Fate  permits  mortals  to  be 
For  we,  I  think,  are  congenial,  and  if  I  could  hope  per- 
manent peace  on  the  earth,  I  might  hope  it  with  you. 

You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  I  feel  overpaid  for 
coming  here.  Much  is  my  life  enriched  by  the  images 
of  the  great  Niagara,  of  the  vast  lakes,  of  the  heavenly 
sweetness  of  the  prairie  scenes,  and,  above  all,  by  the 
heavenly  region  where  I  would  so  gladly  have  lived.  My 
health,  too,  is  materially  benefited.  I  hope  to  come  back 
better  fitted  for  toil  and  care,  as  well  as  with  beauteous 
memories  to  sustain  me  in  them. 

Affectionately  always,  &c. 


TO   MISS   R. 

Chicago t  August  4,  1843. 

I  HAVE  hoped  from  time  to  time,  dear ,  that  I  should 

receive  a  few  lines  from  you,  apprizing  me  how  you  are 


868  MISCELLANIES. 

this  summer,  but  a  letter  from  Mrs.  F lately  comes 

to  tell  me  that  you  are  not  better,  but,  at  least  when  at 
Saratoga,  worse. 

So  wa-iting  is  of  course  fatiguing,  and  I  must  not  ex- 
pect letters  any  more.  To  that  I  could  make  up  my 
mind  if  I  could  hear  that  you  were  well  again.  I  fear, 
if  your  malady  disturbs  you  as  much  as  it  did,  it  must 
wear  on  your  strength  very  much,  and  it  seems  in  itself 
dangerous.  However,  it  is  good  to  think  that  your 
composure  is  such  that  disease  can  only  do  its  legitimate 
work,  and  not  undermine  two  ways,  —  the  body  with  its 
pains,  and  the  body  through  the  mind  with  thoughts  and 
fears  of  pains. 

I  should  have  written  to  you  long  ago  except  that  I 
find  little  to  communicate  this  summer,  and  little  inclina- 
tion to  communicate  that  little ;  so  what  letters  I  have 
sent,  have  been  chiefly  to  beg  some  from  my  friends.  I 
have  had  home-sickness  sometimes  here,  as  do  children  foi 
the  home  where  they  are  even  little  indulged,  in  the 
boarding-school  where  they  are  only  tolerated.  This  has 
been  in  the  town,  where  I  have  felt  the  want  of  compan- 
ionship, because  the  dissipation  of  fatigue,  or  expecting 
soon  to  move  again,  has  prevented  my  employing  my- 
self for  myself ;  and  yet  there  was  nothing  well  worth 
looking  at  without.  When  in  the  country  I  have  enjoyed 
myself  highly,  and  my  health  has  improved  day  by  day. 
The  characters  of  persons  are  brought  out  by  the  little 
wants  and  adventures  of  country  life  as  you  see  it  in  this 
region ;  so  that  each  one  awakens  a  healthy  interest ;  and 
the  same  persons  who,  if  I  saw  them  at  these  hotels, 


TO  MISS  R.  369 

would  no  i  have  a  .vord  to  say  that  could  fix  the  attention, 
become  most  pleasing  companions;  their  topics  are  before 
them,  and  they  take  the  hint*.  You  feel  so  grateful,  too, 
for  the  hospitality  of  the  log-cabin ;  such  gratitude  as  the 
hospitality  of  the  rich,  however  generous,  cannot  inspire  ; 
for  these  wait  on  you  with  their  domestics  and  money, 
and  give  of  their  superfluity  only  ;  but  here  the  Master 
gives  you  his  bed,  his  horse,  his  lamp,  his  grain  from  the 
field,  his  all,  in  short ;  and  you  see  that  he  enjoys  doing 
so  thoroughly,  and  takes  no  thought  for  the  morrow  ;  so 
that  you  seem  in  fields  full  of  lilies  perfumed  with  pure 
kindness ;  and  feel,  verily,  that  Solomon  in  all  his  glory 
could  not  have  entertauied  you  so  much  to  the  purpose. 
Travelling,  too,  through  the  wide  green  woods  and  prai- 
ries, gives  a  feeling  both  of  luxury  and  repose  that  the 
sight  of  highly-cultivated  country  never  can.  There  seems 
to  be  room  enough  for  labor  to  pause  and  man  to  fold 
his  arms  and  gaze,  forgetting  poverty,  and  care,  and  the 
thousand  walls  and  fences  that  in  the  cultivated  region 
must  be  built  and  daily  repaired  both  for  mind  and  body. 
Nature  seems  to  have  poured  forth  her  riches  so  without 
calculation,  merely  to  mark  the  fulness  of  her  joy ;  to 
swell  in  larger  strains  the  hymn,  "  the  one  Spirit  doeth 
all  things  well,  for  its  life  is  love." 

I  will  not  ask  you  to  write  to  me  now,  as  I  shall  so 
soon  be  at  home.    Probably,  too,  I  shall  reserve  a  visit  to 

B for  another  summer  ;  I  have  been  so  much  a  rover 

that  when  once  on  the  road  I  shall  wish  to  hasten  home. 

Ever  yours,  M, 


370  MISCELLANIES. 

TO   THE   SAME. 

Cambridge^  January  21,  1844. 

My  DEAR :  I  am  anxious  to  get  a  letter,  telling  me 

how  jou  fare  this  winter  in  the  cottage.  Your  neighbors 
who  come  this  way  do  not  give  very  favorable  accounts 
of  your  looks  ;  and,  if  you  are  well  enough,  I  should  like 
to  see  a  few  of  those  firm,  well-shaped  characters  from 
your  own  hand.  Is  there  no  chance  of  your  coming  to 
Boston  all  this  winter  ?  I  had  hoped  to  see  you  for  a 
few  hours  at  least. 

I  wrote  you  one  letter  while  at  the  West ;  I  know  not 
if  it  was  ever  received ;  it  was  sent  by  a  private  opportu- 
nity, one  of  those  '-traps  to  catch  the  unwary,"  as  they 
have  been  called.  It  was  no  great  loss,  if  lost.  I  did 
not  feel  like  writing  letters  while  travelling.  It  took  all 
my  strength  of  mind  to  keep  moving  and  to  receive  so 
many  new  impressions.  Surely  I  never  had  so  clear  an 
idea  before  of  the  capacity  to  bless,  of  mere  Earthy 
when  fresh  from  the  original  breath  of  the  creative 
spirit.  To  have  this  impression,  one  must  see  large  tracts 
of  wild  country,  where  the  traces  of  man's  inventions  are 
too  few  and  slight  to  break  the  harmony  of  the  first 
design.  It  will  not  be  so,  long,  even  where  I  have  been 
now ;  in  three  or  four  years  those  vast  flowery  plains  will 
be  broken  up  for  tillage,  —  those  shapely  groves  converted 
into  logs  and  boards.  I  wished  I  could  have  kept  on  now, 
for  two  or  three  years,  while  yet  the  first  spell  rested  on 
the  scene.  I  feel  raucli  refreshed,  even  by  this  brief 
intimacy  with  Nature,  in  an  aspect  of  large  and  unbroken 
lineaments. 


TO   MISS  B.  371 

I  came  home  with  a  treasure  of  :>right  pictures  and 
suggestions,  and  seemingly  well.  But  my  strength, 
which  had  been  sustained  by  a  free,  careless  life  m  the 
open  air,  has  yielded  to  the  chills  of  winter,  and  a  very 
little  work,  with  an  ease  that  is  not  encouraging.  How- 
ever, I  have  had  the  influenza,  and  that  has  been  about  as 
bad  as  fever  to  everybody.  Noiv  I  am  pretty  well,  but 
much  writing  does  not  agree  with  me. 

*  ^  *  I  -vvish  you  were  near  enough  for  me  to  go 
in  and  see  you  now  and  then.  I  know  that,  sick  or  well, 
you  are  always  serene,  and  sufficient  to  yourself;  but  now 
you  are  so  much  shut  up,  it  might  animate  existence 
agreeably  to  hear  some  things  I  might  have  to  tell.  *  *  * 


TO    THE   SAME. 

*     *     *     1844. 

JuST  as  I  was  beginning  to  visit  the  institutions  here, 
of  a  remedial  and  benevolent  kind,  I  was  stopped  by 
influenza.  So  soon  as  I  am  quite  well  I  shall  resume 
the  survey.  I  do  not  expect  to  do  much,  practically,  for 
the  suffering,  but  having  such  an  organ  of  expression  as 
the  Tribune^  any  suggestions  that  are  well  grounded 
may  be  of  use.  I  have  always  felt  great  interest  for 
those  women  who  are  trampled  in  the  mud  to  gratify  the 
brute  appetites  of  men,  and  I  wished  I  might  be  brought, 
naturally,  into  contact  with  them.  Now  I  am  so,  and  I 
think  I  shall  have  much  that  is  interesting  to  tell  you 
when  we  meet. 

I  go  on  very  moderately,  for  my  strength  is  not 
great;  but  I  am  now  connected  with  a  person  who  ia 


372  MISCELLANIES. 

anxious  I  should  not  overtask  it.  I  hope  tc  do  more  for 
the  paper  bj-and-bj.  At  present,  besides  the  time  I 
spend  in  looking  round  and  examining  my  new  field,  I 
am  publishing  a  volume,  of  which  you  wi.l  receive  a 
copy,  called  "Woman  in  the  Nineteenth  Century."  A 
part  of  my  available  time  is  spent  in  attending  to  it  as  it 
goes  through  the  press ;  for,  really,  the  work  seems  but^ 
half  done  when  your  book  is  loritten.  I  like  being  here ; 
the  streams  of  life  flow  free,  and  I  learn  much.  I  feel 
so  far  satisfied  as  to  have  laid  my  plans  to  stay  a  year 

and  a  half,  if  not  longer,  and  to  have  told  Mr.  G 

that  I  probably  shall  do  so.  That  is  long  enough  for  a 
mortal  to  look  forward,  and  not  too  long,  as  I  must  look 
forward  in  order  to  get  what  I  want  from  Europe. 

Mr.  Greeley  is  a  man  of  genuine  excellence,  honorable, 
benevolent,  of  an  uncorrupted  disposition,  and  of  great 
abilities.  In  modes  of  life  and  manners  he  is  the  man 
of  the  people,  and  of  the  American  people.     *     ^     ^ 

I  rejoice  to  hear  that  your  situation  is  improved.  I 
hope  to  pass  a  day  or  two  with  you  next  summer,  if  you 
can  receive  me  when  I  can  come.  I  want  to  hear  from 
you  now  and  then,  if  it  be  only  a  line  to  let  me  know  the 

state  of  your  health.     Love  to  Miss  G ,  and  tell  her 

I  have  the  cologne-bottle  on  my  mantle-piece  now.  I 
sent  home  for  all  the  little  gifts  I  had  from  friends,  that 
my  room  might  look  more  homelike.  My  window  com- 
mands a  most  beautiful  view,  for  we  are  quite  out  of  the 
town,  in  a  lovely  place  on  the  East  River.  I  like  this,  as 
I  can  be  in  tOAvn  when  I  will,  and  here  have  much  retire- 
ment. You  were  right  in  supposing  my  signature  is  the 
star.  Ever  affectionately  yours. 


TO  HER  BROTHER,  R.  373 

TO  HER  BROTHER,  R. 

Fishldll-Landing^JSTov    23,   1844. 

Dear  R : 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

The  seven  weeks  of  proposed  abode  here  draw  to  a 
close,  and  have  brought  what  is  rarest, —  fruition,  of  the 
sort  proposed  from  them.  I  have  been  here  all  the  time, 
except  that  three  weeks  since  I  went  down  to  New  York, 

and  with visited  the  prison  at  Sing-Sing.     On 

Saturday  we  went  up  to  Sing- Sing  in  a  little  way-boat, 
thus  seeing  that  side  of  the  river  to  much  greater  advan- 
tage than  we  can  in  the  mammoth  boats.  We  arrived  in 
resplendent  moonlight,  by  which  we  might  have  supposed 
the  prisons  palaces,  if  we  had  not  known  too  well  what 
was  within. 

On  Sunday addressed  the  male  convicts  in  a 

strain  of  most  noble  and  pathetic  eloquence.  They  lis- 
tened with  earnest  attention ;  many  were  moved  to  tears, 
—  some.  I  doubt  not,  to  a  better  life.  I  never  felt  such 
sympathy  with  an  audience ;  —  as  I  looked  over  that  sea 
of  faces  marked  with  the  traces  of  every  ill,  I  felt  that 
at  least  heavenly  truth  would  not  be  kept  out  by  self- 
complacency  and  a  dependence  on  good  appearances. 

I  talked  with  a  circle  of  women,  and  they  showed  the 
natural  aptitude  of  the  sex  for  refinement.  These 
women  —  some  black,  and  all  from  the  lowest  haunts  of 
vice — showed  a  sensibility  and  a  sense  of  propriety 
which  would  not  have  disgraced  any  place. 

Returning,  we  had  a  fine  storm  on  the  river,  clearing 
up  with  strong  winds. 
32 


374  MISCELLANIES. 

TO   HER   BROTHER,    A.    B.    F. 

Ro7ne,  Jan.  20,  1849. 

My  DEAR  A. :  Your  letter  and  mother's  gave  me  th3 
first  account  of  your  illness.  Some  letters  were  lost  dur- 
ing the  summer,  I  do  not  know  how.  It  did  seem  very 
hard  upon  you  to  have  that  illness  just  after  your 
settlement ;  hut  it  is  to  be  hoped  we  shall  some  time  know 
a  good  reason  for  all  that  seems  so  strange.  I  trust  you 
are  now  becoming  fortified  in  your  health,  and  if  this 
could  only  be,  feel  as  if  things  would  go  well  with  you 
in  this  difficult  world.  I  trust  you  are  on  the  threshold 
of  an  honorable  and  sometimes  happy  career.  From 
many  pains,  many  dark  hours,  let  none  of  the  progeny 
of  Eve  hope  to  escape  !  *  =^  *  * 

Meantime,  I  hope  to  find  you  in  your  home,  and  make 
you  a  good  visit  there.  Your  invitation  is  sweet  in  its 
tone,  and  rouses  a  vision  of  summer  woods  and  New  Eng- 
land Sunday-morning  bells. 

It  seems  to  me  that  mother  is  at  last  truly  in  her 
sphere,  living  with  one  of  her  children.  Watch  over  her 
carefully,  and  don't  let  her  do  too  much.  Her  spirit  is 
only  all  too  willing, —  but  the  flesh  is  weak,  and  her  life 
so  precious  to  us  all !  *  *  *  * 


TO   MAZZINL 


**  Al  Cittadino  Reppresentante  del  Popolo  Romano." 

Rome,  March  3,  1849. 
Dear  Mazzini  :    Though  knowing  you  occupied  by 
the  most  important  affairs,  I  again  feel  impelled  to  write 


TO  MAzzmi.  875 

a  few  lines.  What  emboldens  me  is  the  persuasion  that 
the  best  friends,  in  point  of  sympathy  and  intelligence, — 
the  only  friends  of  a  man  of  ideas  and  of  marked  charac- 
ter, —  must  be  women.  You  have  your  mother ;  no 
doubt  you  have  others,  perhaps  many.  Of  that  I  know 
nothing ;  only  I  like  to  offer  also  my  tribute  of  affection. 

When  I  think  that  only  two  years  ago  you  thought 
of  coming  into  Italy  with  us  in  disguise,  it  seems  very 
glorious  that  you  are  about  to  enter  republican  Rome  as 
a  Roman  citizen.  It  seems  almost  the  most  sublime  and 
poetical  fact  of  history.  Yet,  even  in  the  first  thrill  of 
joy,  I  felt  "he  will  think  his  work  but  beginning, 
now." 

When  I  read  from  your  hand  these  words,  "  H  lunge 
esilio  teste  ricominciato,  la  vita  non  confortata,  fuorche 
d'affetti  lontani  e  contesi,  e  la  speranza  lungamente  pro- 
trata,,  e  il  desiderio  che  comincia  a  farmi  si  supremo,  di 
dormire  finalmente  in  pace,  da  che  non  ho  potuto,  vivere 
in  terra  mia,"  —  when  I  read  these  words  they  made  me 
weep  bitterly,  and  I  thought  of  them  always  with  a 
great  pang  at  the  heart.  But  it  is  not  so,  dear  Mazzini, 
—  you  do  not  return  to  sleep  under  the  sod  of  Italy,  but 
to  see  your  thought  springing  up  all  over  the  soil.  The 
gardeners  seem  to  me,  in  point  of  instinctive  wisdom  or 
deep  thought,  mostly  incompetent  to  the  care  of  the 
garden ;  but  an  idea  like  this  will  be  able  to  make  use 
of  any  implements.  The  necessity,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  will 
educate  the  men,  by  making  them  work.  It  is  not  this, 
I  believe,  which  still  keeps  your  heart  so  melancholy ; 
for  I  seem  to  read  the  same  melancholy  in  your  answer 


376  MISCELLANIES. 

to  the  Roman  assembly.  You  speak  of  "few  and  late 
years,"  but  some  full  ones  still  remain.  A  century  is 
not  needed,  nor  should  the  same  man,  in  the  same  form 
of  thought,  work  too  long  on  an  age.  He  would  mould 
and  bind  it  too  much  to  himself  Better  for  him  to  die 
and  return  incarnated  to  give  the  same  truth  on  yet 
another  side.  Jesus  of  Nazareth  died  young ;  but  had  he 
not  spoken  and  acted  as  much  truth  as  the  world  could 
bear  in  his  time  ?  A  frailty,  a  perpetual  short-coming, 
motion  in  a  curve-line,  seems  the  destiny  of  this  earth. 

The  excuse  awaits  us  elsewhere  ;  there  must  be  one, 
—  for  it  is  true,  as  said  Goethe,  "care  is  taken  that  the 
tree  grow  not  up  into  the  heavens."  Men  like  you, 
appointed  ministers,  must  not  be  less  earnest  in  their 
work ;  yet  to  the  greatest,  the  day,  the  moment  is  all 
their  kingdom.     God  takes  care  of  the  increase. 

Farewell !  For  your  sake  I  could  wish  at  this  mo- 
ment to  be  an  Italian  and  a  man  of  action  ;  but  though 
I  am  an  American^  I  am  not  even  a  woman  of  action  ; 
so  the  best  I  can  do  is  to  pray  w^ith  the  whole  heai't, 
"  Heaven  bless  dear  Mazzini !  —  cheer  his  heart,  and 
give  him  worthy  helpers  to  carry  out  his  holy  purposes." 


TO   MR.    AND   MRS.    SPRING. 

Florence,  Dec.  12,  1849. 
Bear  M.  and  R.  :      ^      *      *       Your  letter,  dear 
R.,  was  written  in  your  noblest  and  most  womanly  spirit. 
I  thank  you  warmly  foi  your  sympathy  about  my  little 


TO    MR.    AND   MRS.    SPRING.  377 

boj.  What  he  is  to  me,  even  jou  can  hardly  dream ; 
you  that  have  three,  in  whom  the  natural  thirst  of  the 
heart  was  earlier  satisfied,  can  scarcely  know  what  my 
one  ewe -lamb  is  to  me.  That  he  may  live,  that  I  may 
find  bread  for  him,  that  I  may  not  spoil  him  by  over- 
weening love,  that  I  may  grow  daily  better  for  his  sake, 
are  the  ever-recurring  thoughts, —  say  prayers, —  that 
give  their  hue  to  all  the  current  of  my  life. 

But,  in  answer  to  what  you  say,  that  it  is  still  better  to 
give  the  world  a  living  soul  than  a  portion  of  my  life  in  a 
printed  book,  it  is  true  ;  and  yet,  of  my  book  I  could  know 
whether  it  would  be  of  some  worth  or  not :  of  my  child, 
I  must  wait  to  see  what  his  worth  will  be.  I  play  with 
him,  my  ever-growing  mystery  !  but  from  the  solemnity 
of  the  thoughts  he  brings  is  refuge  only  in  God.  Was  I 
worthy  to  be  parent  of  a  soul,  with  its  eternal,  immense 
capacity  for  weal  and  woe  ?  "  God  be  merciful  to  me  a 
sinner  ! "  comes  so  naturally  to  a  mother's  heart ! 
******* 

What  you  say  about  the  Peace  way  is  deeply  true ;  if 
any  one  see  clearly  how  to  work  in  that  way,  let  him,  in 
God's  name  !  Only,  if  he  abstain  from  fighting  against 
giant  wrongs,  let  him  be  sure  he  is  really  and  ardently 
at  work  undermining  them,  or,  better  still,  sustaining  the 
rights  that  are  to  supplant  them.  Meanwhile,  I  am  not 
sure  that  I  can  keep  my  hands  free  from  blood.  Cobden 
is  good ;  but  if  he  had  stood  in  Kossuth's  place,  would  he 
not  have  drawn  his  sword  against  the  Austrian  ?  You, 
could  you  let  a  Croat  insult  your  wife,  carry  off  your  son 
to  be  an  Austrian  serf,  and  leave  your  daughter  bleeding 
32* 


378  MISCELLANIES. 

in  the  dust  ?  Yet  it  is  true  that  while  Moses  slew  the 
Egyptian,  Christ  stood  still  to  be  spit  upon ;  and  it  is 
true  that  death  to  man  could  do  him  no  harm.  You  have 
the  truth,  you  have  the  right,  but  could  you  act  up  to  it  in 
all  circumstances  ?  Stifled  under  the  Roman  priesthood, 
would  you  not  have  thrown  it  off  with  all  your  force  ? 
Would  you  have  waited  unknown  centuries,  hoping  for 
the  moment  when  you  could  see  another  method? 

Yet  the  agonies  of  that  baptism  of  blood  I  feel,  0  how 
deeply!  in  the  golden  June  days  of  Rome.  Consistent 
no  way,  I  felt  I  should  have  shrunk  back, —  I  could  not 
have  had  it  shed.  Christ  did  not  have  to  see  his  dear 
ones  pass  the  dark  river ;  he  could  go  alone,  however,  in 
prophetic  spirit.     No  doubt  he  foresaw  the  crusades. 

In  answer  to  what  you  say  of ,  I  wish  the  little 

effort  I  made  for  him  had  been  wiselier  applied.  Yet 
these  are  not  the  things  one  regrets.  It  does  not  do  to 
calculate  too  closely  with  the  affectionate  human  impulse. 
We  must  be  content  to  make  many  mistakes,  or  we 
should  move  too  slowly  to  help  our  brothers  much. 


Florence,  Jan.  8,  1850. 
My  deak  R,  :  *  *  *  *  The  way  in  which  you  speak 
of  my  marriage  is  such  as  I  expected  from  you.  Now 
that  we  have  once  exchanged  words  on  these  important 
changes  in  our  lives,  it  matters  little  to  write  letters,  so 
much  has  happened,  and  the  changes  are  too  great  to  be 


879 


made  clear  in  wri:ing.  It  would  not  be  worth  while  to 
keep  the  family  thinking  of  me.  I  cannot  fix  precisely  the 
period  of  my  return,  though  at  present  it  seems  to  me 
probable  we  may  make  the  voyage  in  May  or  June.  At 
first  we  should  wish  to  go  and  make  a  little  visit  to  mother. 
I  should  take  counsel  with  various  friends  before  fixing 
myself  in  any  place ;  see  what  openings  there  are  for  me, 
&c.  I  cannot  judge  at  all  before  I  am  personally  in  the 
United  States,  and  wish  to  engage  myself  no  way.  Should 
I  finally  decide  on  the  neighborhood  of  New  York,  I 
should  see  you  all,  often.  I  wish,  however,  to  live  with 
mother,  if  possible.  We  will  discuss  it  on  all  sides  when 
I  come.  Climate  is  one  thing  I  must  think  of  The 
change  from  the  Roman  winter  to  that  of  New  England 
might  be  very  trying  for  Ossoli.  In  New  York  he  would 
see  Italians  often,  hear  his  native  tongue,  and  feel  less 
exiled.  If  we  had  our  affairs  in  New  York  and  lived  in 
the  neighboring  country,  we  could  find  places  as  quiet  as 

C ,  more  beautiful,  and  from  which  access  to  a  city 

would  be  as  easy  by  means  of  steam. 

On  the  other  hand,  my  family  and  most  cherished 
friends  are  in  New  England.  I  shall  weigh  all  advan- 
tages at  the  time,  and  choose  as  may  then  seem  best. 

I  feel  also  the  great  responsibility  about  a  child,  and 
the  mixture  of  solemn  feeling  with  the  joy  its  sweet  ways 
and  caresses  give ;  yet  this  is  only  different  in  degree, 
not  in  kind,  from  what  we  should  feel  in  other  relations. 
We  may  more  or  less  impede  or  brighten  the  destiny  of 
all  with  whom  we  come  in  contact.  Much  as  the  child 
lies  in  our  power,  still  God  and  Nature  are  there,  fur- 


380  MISCELLANIES. 

nishing  a  thousand  masters  to  correct  our  erroneous,  and 
fill  up  our  imperfect,  teachings.  I  feel  impelled  to  try 
for  good,  for  the  sake  of  my  child,  most  powerfully ;  but 
if  1  fail,  I  trust  help  will  be  tendered  to  him  from  some 
other  quarter.  I  do  not  wish  to  trouble  myself  more 
than  is  inevitable,  or  lose  the  simple,  innocent  pleasure 
of  watching  his  growth  from  day  to  day,  by  thinking  of 
his  future.  At  present  my  care  of  him  is  to  keep  him 
pure,  in  body  and  mind,  to  give  for  body  and  mind  simple 
nutriment  when  he  requires  it,  and  to  play  with  him. 
Now  he  learns,  playing,  as  we  all  shall  when  we  enter  a 
higher  existence.  With  him  my  intercourse  thus  far  has 
been  precious,  and  if  I  do  not  well  for  him^  he  at  least 
has  taught  me  a  great  deal. 

I  may  say  of  Ossoli,  it  would  be  difficult  to  help  lik- 
ing him,  so  sweet  is  his  disposition,  so  disinterested  with- 
out effort,  so  simply  wise  his  daily  conduct,  so  harmoni- 
ous his  whole  nature.  And  he  is  a  perfectly  unconscious 
character,  and  never  dreams  that  he  does  well.  He  is 
studying  English,  but  makes  little  progress.  For  a  good 
while  you  may  not  be  able  to  talk  freely  with  him,  but 
you  will  like  showing  him  your  favorite  haunts, —  he  is 
so  happy  in  nature,  so  sweet  in  tranquil  places. 


TO 


What  a  difference  it  makes  to  come  home  to  a  child  ! 
How  it  fills  up  all  the  gaps  of  life  just  in  the  way  that 
is  most  consoling,  most  refreshing  !  Formerly  I  used  to 
feel  sad  at  that  hour ;    the  day  had  not  been  nobly  spent. 


TO   MR.    AND   MRS.   S.  881 

—  I  had  not  done  my  duty  to  myself  or  others,  and  I 
felt  8)  lonely  i  Now  I  never  feel  lonely ;  for,  even  if  my 
little  boy  dies,  our  souls  will  remain  eternally  united. 
And  I  feel  infinite  hope  for  him, —  hope  that  he  will 
serve  God  and  man  more  loyally  than  I  have  done :  and 
seeing  how  full  he  is  of  life,  how  much  he  can  afford 
to  throw  away,  I  feel  the  inexhaustibleness  of  nature, 
and  console  myself  for  my  own  incapacities. 

Madame  Arconati  is  near  me.  We  have  had  some 
hours  of  great  content  together,  but  in  the  last  weeks 
her  only  child  has  been  dangerously  ill.  I  have  no 
other  acquaintance  except  in  the  American  circle,  and 
should  not  care  to  make  any  unless  singularly  desirable  ; 
for  I  want  all  my  time  for  the  care  of  my  child,  for  my 
walks,  and  visits  to  objects  of  art,  in  which  again  I  can 
find  pleasure,  and  in  the  evening  fc*  study  and  writing. 
Ossoli  is  forming  some  taste  for  books  ;  he  is  also  studying 
English;  he  learns  of  Horace  Sumner,  to  whom  he 
teaches  Italian  in  turn. 


TO    MR.    AND   MRS.    S. 

Florence,  Feb.  5,  1850. 

My  dear  M.  and  R.  :  You  have  no  doubt  ere  this 
received  a  letter  written,  I  think,  in  December,  but  I 
must  suddenly  write  again  to  thank  you  for  the  New- 
Year's  letter.  It  was  a  sweet  impulse  that  led  you  all 
to  write  together,  and  had  its  full  reward  in  the  pleasure 
you  gave.  I  have  said  as  little  as  possible  about  Ossoli 
and  our  relation,  wishing  my  old  friends  to  form   their 


382  MISCELLANIES. 

own  impressions  naturally,  when  they  see  us  together. 
I  have  faith  that  all  who  ever  knew  me  will  feel  that  I 
have  become  somewhat  milder,  kinder,  and  more  worthy 
to  serve  all  who  need,  for  my  new  relations.  I  have  ex- 
pected that  those  who  have  cared  for  me  chiefly  for  my 
activity  of  intellect,  would  not  care  for  him  ;  but  that 
those  in  whom  the  moral  nature  predominates  would 
gradually  learn  to  love  and  admire  him,  and  see  what  a 
treasure  his  affection  must  be  to  me.  But  even  that 
would  be  only  gradually  ;  for  it  is  by  acts,  not  by  words, 
that  one  so  simple,  true,  delicate  and  retiring,  can  be 
known.  For  me,  while  some  of  my  friends  have  thought 
me  exacting,  I  may  say  Ossoli  has  always  outgone  my 
expectations  in  the  disinterestedness,  the  uncompromising 
bounty,  of  his  every  act. 

He  was  the  same  to  his  father  as  to  me.  His  affec- 
tions are  few,  but  profound,  and  thoroughly  acted  out. 
His  permanent  affections  are  few,  but  his  heart  is  always 
open  to  the  humble,  suffering,  heavy-laden.  His  mind 
has  little  habitual  action,  except  in  a  simple,  natural 
poetry,  that  one  not  very  intimate  with  him  would  never 
know  anything  about.  But  once  opened  to  a  great  impulse, 
as  it  was  to  the  hope  of  freeing  his  country,  it  rises  to  the 
height  of  the  occasion,  and  stays  there.  His  enthusiasm 
is  quiet,  but  unsleeping.  He  is  very  unlike  most  Ital- 
ians, but  very  unlike  most  Americans,  too.  I  do  not 
expect  all  who  cared  for  me  to  care  for  him,  nor  is  it  of 
importance  to  him  that  they  should.  He  is  wholly  with- 
out vanity.  He  is  too  truly  the  gentleman  not  to  be 
respected  by  all  persons  of  refinement.     For  the  rest,  if 


TO   MR.    AND   MRS.    S.  383 

my  life  is  free,  and  not  too  much  troubled,  if  he  can 
enjoy  his  domestic  affections,  and  fulfil  his  duties  in  his 
own  way,  he  will  be  content.  Can  we  find  this  much  for 
ourselves  in  bustling  America  the  next  t^ree  or  four 
years  ?  I  know  not,  but  think  we  shall  come  and  try. 
I  wish  much  to  see  you  all,  and  exchange  the  kiss  of 
peace.  There  will,  I  trust,  be  peace  within,  if  not  with- 
out. I  thank  you  most  warmly  for  your  gift.  Be 
assured  it  will  turn  to  great  profit.  I  have  learned  to 
be  a  great  adept  in  economy,  by  looking  at  my  little 
boy.  I  cannot  bear  to  spend  a  cent  for  fear  he  may 
come  to  want.  I  understand  now  how  the  family-men 
get  so  mean,  and  shall  have  to  begin  soon  to  pray 
against  that  danger.  My  little  Nino,  as  we  call  him 
for  house  and  pet  name,  is  in  perfect  health.  I  wash, 
and  dress,  and  sew  for  him  ;  and  think  I  see  a  great 
deal  of  promise  in  his  little  ways,  and  shall  know  him 
better  for  doing  all  for  him,  though  it  is  fatiguing  and 
inconvenient  at  times.  He  is  very  gay  and  laughing, 
sometimes  violent,  —  for  he  is  come  to  the  age  when  he 
wants  everything  in  his  own  hands,  —  but,  on  the  whole, 
sweet  as  yet,  and  very  fond  of  me.  He  often  calls  me  to 
kiss  him.  He  says,  "kiss,"  in  preference  to  the  Italian 
word  bacio.  I  do  not  cherish  sanguine  visions  about 
him,  but  try  to  do  my  best  by  him,  and  enjoy  the  pres- 
ent moment. 

It  w^as  a  nice  account  you  gave  of  Miss  Bremer.     She 
found  some  "  neighbors"  as  good  as  her  own.     You  say 

she  was  much  pleased  by ;  could  she  kr  ow  her, 

she  might  enrich  the  world  with  a  portrait  as  full  of 


384  MISCELLANIES. 

little  delicate  traits  as  any  in  her  gallery,  and  of  a  higher 
class  than  any  in  which  she  has  been  successful.    I  would 

give  much  that  a  competent  person  should  paint . 

It  is  a  shame  she  should  die  and  leave  the  world  no 
copy. 


to  mr.  cassj  charge  d'affaires  des  etats  unis 
d'ambrique. 

Florence,  May  2,  1850. 

Dear  Mr.  Cass  :  I  shall  most  probably  leave  Flor- 
ence and  Italy  the  8th  or  10th  of  this  month,  and  am 
not  willing  to  depart  without  saying  adieu  to  yourself. 
I  wanted  to  write  the  30th  of  April,  but  a  succession  of 
petty  interruptions  prevented.  That  was  the  day  I  saw 
you  first,  and  the  day  the  French  first  assailed  Rome. 
What  a  crowded  day  that  was !  I  had  been  to  visit 
Ossoli.  in  the  morning,  in  the  garden  of  the  Vatican. 
Just  after  my  return  you  entered.  I  then  went  to  the 
hospital,  and  there  passed  the  night  amid  the  groans  of 
many  suffering  and  some  dying  men.  What  a  strange 
first  of  May  it  was,  as  I  walked  the  streets  of  Rome  by 
the  early  sunlight  of  the  next  day  !  Those  were  to  me 
grand  and  impassioned  hours.  Deep  sorrow  followed,  — 
many  embarrassments,  many  pains  !  Let  me  once  more, 
at  parting,  thank  you  for  the  sympathy  you  showed  me 
amid  many  of  these.  A  thousand  years  might  pass,  and 
you  would  find  it  unforgotten  by  me. 

I  leave  Italy  with  profound  regret,  and  with  only  a 
vague   hope   of   returning.     I  could   have   lived  here 


TO .  885 

always,  full  of  bright  visions,  and  expanding  in  my 
faculties,  had  destiny  permitted.  May  you  be  happy 
who  remain  here  !  It  would  be  well  worth  while  to  be 
happy  in  Italy  ! 

I  had  hoped  to  enjoy  some  of  the  last  days,  but  the 
weather  has  been  steadily  bad  since  you  left  Florence. 
Since  the  4th  of  April  we  have  not  had  a  fine  day,  and 
all  our  little  plans  for  visits  to  favorite  spots  and  beauti- 
ful objects,  from  which  we  have  long  been  separated,  have 
been  marred ! 

I  sail  in  the  barque  Elizabeth  for  New  York.  She  is 
laden  with  marble  and  rags  —  a  very  appropriate  com- 
panionship for  wares  of  Italy  !  She  carries  Powers' 
statue  of  Calhoun.  Adieu ,!  Remember  that  we  look  to 
you  to  keep  up  the  dignity  of  our  country.  Many  im- 
portant occasions  are  now  likely  to  offer  for  the  American 
(I  wish  I  could  write  the  Columbian)  man  to  advocate, 
—  more,  to  represent  the  cause  of  Truth  and  Freedom  in 
the  face  of  their  foes.  Remember  me  as  their  lover, 
and  your  friend,  M.  0. 


TO  . 

Florence,  April  16,  1850. 
*  *  *  There  is  a  bark  at  Leghorn,  highly  spoken 
of,  which  sails  at  the  end  of  this  month,  and  we  shall 
very  likely  take  that.  I  find  it  imperatively  necessary  to 
go  to  the  United  States  to  make  arrangements  that  may 
free  me  from  care.  Shall  I  be  more  fortunate  if  I  go  in 
person  ?  I  do  not  know.  I  am  ill  adapted  to  push  my 
33 


386  MISCELLANIES. 

claims  and  pretensions ;  but,  at  least,  it  «rill  not  be  such 
slow  work  as  passing  from  disappointment  to  disappoint- 
ment here,  where  I  wait  upon  the  post-office,  and  must 
wait  two  or  three  months,  to  know  the  fate  of  any  propo- 

V  sition. 

/  I  go  home  prepared  to  expect  all  that  is  painful  and 
difficult.  It  will  be  a  consolation  to  see  my  dear  mother ; 
and  my  dear  brother  E.,  whom  I  have  not  seen  for  ten 
years,  is  coming  to  New  England  this  summer.  On  that 
account  I  wish  to  go  this  year. 

T^  -TT  -7^  *jv  ^  ^ 

May  10.  —  My  head  is  full  of  boxes,  bundles,  phials 
of  medicine,  and  pots  of  jelly.  I  never  thought  much 
about  a  journey  for  myself,  except  to  try  and  return  all 
the  things,  books  especially,  which  I  had  been  borrowing ; 
but  about  my  child  I  feel  anxious  lest  I  should  not  take 
what  is  necessary  for  his  health  and  comfort  on  so  long  a 
voyage,  where  omissions  are  irreparable.  The  unpro- 
pitious,  rainy  weather  delays  us  now  from  day  to  day,  as 
our  ship,  the  Elizabeth,  —  (look  out  for  news  of  ship- 
wreck !)  cannot  finish  taking  in  her  cargo  till  come  one 
or  two  good  days. 

I  leave  Italy  with  most  sad  and  unsatisfied  heart,  — 
hoping,  indeed,  to  return,  but  fearing  that  may  not  be 
permitted  in  my  "  cross-biased  "  life,  till  strength  of 
feeling  and  keenness  of  perception  be  less  than  during 
these  bygone  rich,  if  troubled,  years. 

I  can  say  least  to  those  whom  1  prize  most.  I  ^m  so 
sad  and  weary,  leaving  Italy,  that  I  seem  paralyzed. 


TO  .  387 


TO   THE   SAME. 
Ship  Elizabeth,  off  Gibraltar,  June  3, 1850. 

My  dear  M :  You  will,  I  trust,  long  ere  receiv- 
ing this,  have  read  my  letter  from  Florence,  enclosing  one 
to  my  mother,  informing  her  under  what  circumstances  I  \ 

had  drawn  on  you  through  ,  and  mentioning  how    I 

I  wished  the  bill  to  be  met  in  case  of  any  accident  to  me  / 
on  my  homeward  course.  That  course,  as  respects  ' 
weather,  has  been  thus  far  not  unpleasant ;  but  the  dis- 
aster that  has  befallen  us  is  such  as  I  never  dreamed  of. 
I  had  taken  passage  with  Captain  Hasty  —  one  who  seemed 
to  me  one  of  the  best  and  most  high-minded  of  our 
American  men.  He  showed  the  kindest  interest  in  us. 
His  wife,  an  excellent  woman,  was  with  him.  I  thought, 
during  the  voyage,  if  safe  and  my  child  well,  to  have  as 
much  respite  from  care  and  pain  as  sea-sickness  would 
permit.  But  scarcely  was  that  enemy  in  some  measure 
quelled,  when  the  captain  fell  sick.  At  first  his  disease 
presented  the  appearance  of  nervous  fever.  I  was  with 
him  a  great  deal ;  indeed,  whenever  I  could  relieve  his 
wife  from  a  ministry  softened  by  great  love  and  the 
courage  of  womanly  heroism.  The  last  days  were  truly 
terrible  with  disgusts  and  fatigues ;  for  he  died,  we  sup- 
pose,—  no  physician  has  been  allowed  to  come  on  board 
to  see  the  body, —  of  confluent  small-pox.  I  have  seen, 
since  we  parted,  great  suffering,  but  nothing  physical  to 
be  compared  to  this,  where  the  once  fair  and  expressive 
mould  of  man  is  thus  lost  in  corruption  before  life  has 
fled.     He  died  yesterday  morning,  and  was  buried  in  deep 


388  MISCELLANIES. 

water,  the  American  Consul's  barge  towing  out  one  from 
this  ship  which  bore  the  body,  about  six  o'clock.  It  was 
Sunday.  A  divinely  calm,  glowing  afternoon  had  suc- 
ceeded a  morning  of  bleak,  cold  wind.  You  cannot  think 
how  beautiful  the  whole  thing  was :  —  the  decent  array  and 
sad  reverence  of  the  sailors ;  the  many  ships  with  their 
banners  flying ;  the  stern  pillar  of  Hercules  all  bathed 
in  roseate  vapor ;  the  little  white  sails  diving  into  the 
blue  depths  with  that  solemn  spoil  of  the  good  man,  so 
still,  when  he  had  been  so  agonized  and  gasping  as  the 
last  sun  stooped.  Yes,  it  was  beautiful ;  but  how  dear  a 
price  we  pay  for  the  poems  of  this  world !  We  shall 
now  be  in  quarantine  a  week ;  no  person  permitted  to 
come  on  board  until  it  be  seen  whether  disease  break  out 
in  other  cases.  I  have  no  good  reason  to  think  it  will 
not  ;  yet  I  do  not  feel  afraid.  Ossoli  has  had  it ;  so  he 
is  safe.  The  baby  is,  of  course,  subject  to  injury.  In 
the  earlier  days,  before  I  suspected  small-pox,  I  carried 
him  twice  into  the  sick-room,  at  the  request  of  the 
captain,  who  was  becoming  fond  of  him.  He  laughed 
and  pointed ;  he  did  not  discern  danger,  but  only  thought 
it  odd  to  see  the  old  friend  there  in  bed.  It  is  vain  by 
prudence  to  seek  to  evade  the  stern  assaults  of  destiny. 
I  submit.  Should  all  end  well,  we  shall  be  in  New 
York  later  than  I  expected ;  but  keep  a  look-out.  Should 
we  arrive  safely,  I  should  like  to  see  a  friendly  face. 
Commend  me  to  my  dear  friends ;  arid,  with  most  affec- 
tionate wishes  that  joy  and  peace  may  continue  to  dwell 
in  your  house,  adieu,  and  love  as  you  can, 

Your  friend,  Maegaket. 


LETTER  FROM  HON.   LEWIS   CASS,    JR.  389 


LETTER    FROM    HON.    LEWIS    CASS,  JR.,    UNITED     STATES 

CHARGE   d'affaires  AT  ROME,    TO    MRS.  E.   K.    CHAN- 

NING. 

Legation  des  Etnts  Unis  d'Ameyiquef 
Rome,  May  10,  1851. 

Madame  :  I  beg  leave  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of 
your  letter  of  the  —  ult.,  and  to  express  my  regret  that 
the  weak  state  of  my  eyesight  has  prevented  me  from 
giving  it  an  earlier  reply. 

In  compliance  with  your  request,  I  have  the  honor  to 
state,  succinctly,  the  circumstances  connected  with  my 
acquaintance  with  the  late  Madame  Ossoli,  your  deceased 
sister,  during  her  residence  in  Rome. 

In  the  month  of  April,  1849,  Rome,  as  you  are  no 
doubt  aware,  was  placed  in  a  state  of  siege  by  the 
approach  of  the  French  army.  It  was  filled  at  that 
time  with  exiles  and  fugitives  who  had  been  contending 
for  years,  from  Milan  in  the  north  to  Palermo  in  the 
south,  for  the  republican  cause ;  and  when  the  gates  were 
closed,  it  was  computed  that  there  were,  of  Italians  alone, 
thirteen  thousand  refugees  within  the  walls  of  the  city. 
all  of  whom  had  been  expelled  from  adjacent  states,  till 
Rome  became  their  last  rallying-point,  and,  to  many,  their 
final  resting-place.  Among  these  was  to  be  seen  every 
variety  of  age,  sentiment,  and  condition, —  striplings  and 
blanched  heads;  wild,  visionary  enthusiasts;  grave,  he- 
roic men,  who,  in  the  struggle  for  freedom,  had  ventured 
all,  and  lost  all ;  nobles  and  beggars ;  bandits,  felons  and 
brigands.  Great  excitement  naturally  existed ;  and,  in 
the  general  apprehension  which  pervaded  all  classes,  that 
83* 


390  MISCELLANIES. 

acts  of  personal  violence  and  outrage  would  soon  be  com- 
mitted, the  foreign  residents,  especially,  found  themselves 
placed  in  an  alarming  situation. 

On  the  30th  of  April  the  first  engagement  took  place 
between  the  French  and  Roman  troops,  and  in  a  few  days 
subsequently  I  visited  several  of  my  countrymen,  at  their 
request,  to  concert  measures  for  their  safety.  Hearing, 
on  that  occasion,  and  for  the  first  time,  of  Miss  Fuller's 
presence  in  Rome,  and  of  her  solitary  mode  of  life,  I 
ventured  to  call  upon  her,  and  offer  my  services  in  any 
manner  that  might  conduce  to  her  comfort  and  security. 
She  received  me  with  much  kindness,  and  thus  an  ac- 
quaintance commenced.  Her  residence  on  the  Piazzi 
Barberini  beinor  considered  an  insecure  abode,  she  re- 
moved  to  the  Casa  Dies,  which  was  occupied  by  several 
American  families. 

In  the  engagements  which  succeeded  between  the 
Roman  and  French  troops,  the  wounded  of  the  former 
were  brought  into  the  city,  and  disposed  throughout  the 
difierent  hospitals,  w^hich  were  under  the  superintendence 
of  several  ladies  of  high  rank,  who  had  formed  themselves 
into  associations,  the  better  to  ensure  care  and  attention 
to  those  unfortunate  men.  Miss  Fuller  took  an  active 
part  in  this  noble  work ;  and  the  greater  portion  of  her 
time,  during  the  entire  siege,  was  passed  in  the  hospital 
of  the  Trinity  of  the  Pilgrims,  which  was  placed  under 
her  direction,  in  attendance  upon  its  inmates. 

The  weather  was  intensely  hot ;  her  health  was  feeble 
and  delicate ;  the  dead  and  dying  were  around  her  in 
every  stage  of  pain  and  horror ;  but  she  never  shrank 


LETTER  FROM  LEWIS  CASS,  JR.        891 

from  the  duty  she  had  assumed.  Her  heart  and  soul 
were  in  the  cause  for  which  these  men  had  fought,  and 
all  was  done  that  Woman  could  do  to  comfort  them  in 
their  sufferings.  I  have  seen  the  eyes  of  the  dying, 
as  she  moved  among  them,  extended  on  opposite  beds, 
meet  in  commendation  of  her  universal  kindness  ;  and  the 
friends  of  those  who  then  passed  away  may  derive  conso- 
lation from  the  assurance  that  nothing  of  tenderness  and 
attention  was  wanting  to  soothe  their  last  moments.  And 
I  have  heard  many  of  those  who  recovered  speak  with  all 
the  passionate  fervor  of  the  Italian  nature,  of  her  whose 
sympathy  and  compassion,  throughout  their  long  illness, 
fulfilled  all  the  offices  of  love  and  affection.  Mazzini,  the 
chief  of  the  Triumvirate,  who,  better  than  any  man  in 
Rome,  knew  her  worth,  often  expressed  to  me  his  ad- 
miration of  her  high  character ;  and  the  Princess  Bel- 
giojoso,  to  whom  was  assigned  the  charge  of  the  Papal 
Palace,  on  the  Quirinal,  which  was  converted  on  this 
occasion  into  a  hospital,  was  enthusiastic  in  her  praise. 
And  in  a  letter  which  I  received  not  long  since  from  this 
lady,  who  was  gaining  the  bread  of  an  exile  by  teaching 
languages  in  Constantinople,  she  alludes  with  much  feeling 
to  the  support  afforded  by  Miss  Fuller  to  the  republican 
party  in  Italy.  Here,  in  Rome,  she  is  still  spoken  of  in 
terms  of  regard  and  endearment,  and  the  announcement 
of  her  death  was  received  with  a  degree  of  sorrow  not 
often  bestowed  upon  a  foreigner,  especially  one  of  a  differ- 
ent faith. 

On  the  29th  of  June,    the   bombardment  from   the 
French  camp  was  very  heavy,  shells  and  grenades  fall- 


892  MISCELLANIES. 

ing  in  every  part  of  the  city.  In  the  afternoon  of  the 
30th,  I  received  a  brief  note  from  Miss  Fuller,  requesting 
me  to  call  at  her  residence.  I  did  so  without  delay,  and 
found  her  lying  on  a  sofa,  pale  and  trembling,  evidently 
much  exhausted.  She  informed  me  that  she  had  sent  for 
me  to  place  in  my  hand  a  packet  of  important  papers, 
which  she  wished  me  to  keep  for  the  present,  and,  in  the 
event  of  her  death,  to  transmit  it  to  her  friends  in  the 
United  States.  She  then  stated  that  she  was  married  to 
Marquis  Ossoli,  who  was  in  command  of  a  battery  on  the 
Pincian  Hill,  —  that  being  the  highest  and  most  exposed 
position  in  Rome,  and  directly  in  the  line  of  bombs  from 
the  French  camp.  It  was  not  to  be  expected,  she  said, 
that  he  could  escape  the  dangers  of  another  night, 
such  as  the  last ;  and  therefore  it  was  her  intention  to 
remain  with  him,  and  share  his  fate.  At  the  Ave  Maria, 
she  added,  he  would  come  for  her,  and  they  would  pro- 
ceed together  to  his  post.  The  packet  which  she  placed 
in  my  possession,  contained,  she  said,  the  certificates  of 
her  marriage,  and  of  the  birth  and  baptism  of  her  child. 
After  a  few  words  more,  I  took  my  departure,  the  hour 
she  named  having  nearly  arrived.  At  the  porter's  lodge 
I  met  the  Marquis  Ossoli,  and  a  few  moments  afterward 
I  saw  them  walking  toward  the  Pincian  Hill. 

Happily,  the  cannonading  was  not  renewed  that  night, 
and  at  dawn  of  day  she  returned  to  her  apartments,  with 
her  husband  by  her  side.  On  that  day  the  French 
army  entered  Rome,  and,  the  gates  being  opened,  Madame 
Ossoli,  accompanied  by  the  Marquis,  immediately  pro- 
ceeded to  Rieti,  where  she  had  left  her  child  in  the  charge 


JE.  393 

of  a  confidential  nurse,  formerly  in  the  service  of  the 
Ossoli  family. 

She  remained,  as  you  are  no  doubt  aware,  some  months 
at  Rieti,  whence  she  removed  to  Florence,  where  she 
resided  until  her  ill-fated  departure  for  the  United  States. 
During  this  period  I  received  several  letters  from  her,  all 
of  which,  though  reluctant  to  part  with  them,  I  enclose 
to  your  address  in  compliance  with  your  request. 
I  am,  Madame,  very  respectfully. 

Your  obedient  servant, 

Lewis  Cass,  Jr. 


\ 


APPENDIX 


APPENDIX 


A. 


Apparition  of  the  goddess  Isis  to  her  votary,  from  Apuleius. 

"  Scarcely  had  I  closed  my  eyes,  when,  behold  (I  saw  in  a 
dream),  a  divine  form  emerging  from  the  middle  of  the  sea,  and 
raising  a  countenance  venerable  even  to  the  gods  themselves. 
Afterward,  the  whole  of  the  most  splendid  image  seemed  to  stand 
before  me,  having  gradually  shaken  oflf  the  sea.  I  will  endeavor 
to  explain  to  you  its  admirable  form,  if  the  poverty  of  human 
language  will  but  afford  me  the  power  of  an  appropriate  narra- 
tion ;  or  if  the  divinity  itself,  of  the  most  luminous  form,  will 
supply  me  with  a  liberal  abundance  of  fluent  diction.  In  the 
first  place,  then,  her  most  copious  and  long  hairs,  being  gradually 
intorted,  and  promiscuously  scattered  on  her  divine  neck,  were 
softly  defluous.  A  multiform  crown,  consisting  of  various  flowers, 
bound  the  sublime  summit  of  her  head.  And  in  the  middle  of 
the  crown,  just  on  her  forehead,  there  was  a  smooth  orb,  resem- 
bling a  mirror,  or  rather  a  white  refulgent  light,  which  indicated 
that  she  was  the  moon.  Vipers,  rising  up  after  the  manner  of 
furrows,  environed  the  crown  on  the  right  hand  and  on  the  left, 
and  Cerealian  ears  of  corn  were  also  extended  from  above.  Her 
garment  was  of  many  colors,  and  woven  from  the  finest  flax,  and 
was  at  one  time  lucid  with  a  white  splendor,  at  another  yellow, 
from  the  flower  of  crocus,  and  at  another  flaming  with  a  rosy 
redness.  Bat  that  which  most  excessively  dazzled  my  sight,  was 
a  very  black  robe,  fulgid  with  a  dark  splendor,  and  which, 
spreading  round  and  passing  under  her  right  side,  and  ascending 
to  her  left  shoulder,  there  rose  protuberant,  like  the  centre  of  a 
34 


398  APPENDIX. 

shield,  the  dependent  part  of  her  robe  falling  in  many  folds,  and 
having  small  knots  of  fringe,  gracefully  flowing  in  its  extremities. 
Glittering  stars  were  dispersed  through  the  embroidered  border 
of  the  robe,  and  through  the  whole  of  its  surface,  and  the  full 
moon,  shining  in  the  middle  of  the  stars,  breathed  forth  flaming 
fires.  A  crown,  wholly  consisting  of  flowers  and  fruits  of  every 
kind,  adhered  with  indivisible  connection  to  the  border  of  con- 
spicuous robe,  in  all  its  undulating  motions. 

"  What  she  carried  in  her  hands  also  consisted  of  things  of  a 
very  difi'erent  nature.  Her  right  hand  bore  a  brazen  rattle, 
through  the  narrow  lamina  of  which,  bent  like  a  belt,  certain 
rods  passing,  produced  a  sharp  triple  sound  through  the  vibrating 
motion  of  her  arm.  An  oblong  vessel,  in  the  shape  of  a  boat, 
depended  from  her  left  hand,  on  the  handle  of  which,  in  that 
part  which  was  conspicuous,  an  asp  raised  its  erect  head  and 
largely  swelling  neck.  And  shoes,  woven  from  the  leaves  of  the 
victorious  palm-tree,  covered  her  immortal  feet.  Such,  and  so 
great  a  goddess,  breathing  the  fragrant  odor  of  the  shores  of 
Arabia  the  happy,  deigned  thus  to  address  me." 

The  foreign  English  of  the  translator,  Thomas  Taylor,  gives 
this  description  the  air  of  being  itself  a  part  of  the  mysteries. 
But  its  majestic  beauty  requires  no  formal  initiation  to  be  en- 
joyed. 


B. 

I  GIVE  this  in  the  original,  as  it  does  not  bear  translation. 
Those  who  read  Italian  will  judge  whether  it  is  not  a  perfect 
description  of  a  perfect  woman. 

LODI  E  PREGHIERE  A  MARIA. 

Vergine  bella  che  di  sol  vestita, 
Coronata  di  stelle,  al  somrao  Sole 

Piacesti  si,  che'n  te  sua  luce  ascose  ; 
Amor  mi  spinge  a  dir  di  te  parole  : 

Ma  non  so  'ncominciar  senza  tu'  aita, 
£  di  Colui  che  amando  in  te  si  pose. 


APPENDIX. 

Invoco  lei  che  ben  sempre  rispose, 
Chi  la  chiamo  con  fede. 

Vergine,  s'a  mercede 
Miseria  extrema  dell'  smane  cose 

Giammai  tivolse,  al  mio  prego  t'inchina  : 
Soccorri  alia  mia  guerra  ; 

Bench'  i'  sia  terra,  e  tu  del  ciel  Regina. 

Vergine  saggia,  e  del  bel  numero  una 
Delle  beate  vergini  prudenti  ; 

Anzi  la  prima,  e  con  piu  chiara  lamp*  ; 
0  saldo  scudo  dell'  afflitte  gente 

Contra  colpi  di  Morte  e  di  Fortuna, 
Sotto'  1  qual  si  trionfa,  non  pur  scampa  : 

0  refrigerio  alcieco  ardor  ch'  avvampa 
Qui  fra  mortali  sciocchi, 

Vergine,  que'  begli  occhi 
Che  vider  tristi  la  spietata  stampa 

Ne'  dolci  membri  del  tuo  caro  figlio, 
Volgi  al  mio  dubbio  stato  ; 

Che  sconsigliato  a  te  vien  per  consiglio. 

Vergine  pura,  d'ogni  parte  intera, 
Del  tuo  parto  gentil  figliuola  e  madre  ; 

Che  allumi  questa  vita,  e  I'altra  adorni  ; 
Per  te  il  tuo  Figlio  e  quel  del  sommo  Padre, 

0  finestra  del  ciel  lucente  altera, 
Venne  a  salvarne  in  su  gli  estremi  giomi, 

E  fra  tutt'  i  terreni  altri  soggiomi 
Sola  tu  fusti  eletta, 

Vergine  benedetta  ; 
Che  '1  pianto  d'  Eva  in  allegrezza  tomi'  ; 

Fammi ;  che  puoi ;  della  sua  grazia  degnOf 
Senza  fine  o  beata, 

Gia  coronata  nel  superno  regno. 

Vergine  santa  d'ogni  grazia  plena  ; 
Che  per  vera  e  altissima  umiltate 

Salisti  al  ciel,  onde  miei  preghi  ascolti ; 
Tu  partoristi  il  fonte  di  pietate, 

E  di  giustizia  il  Sol,  che  rasserena 


399 


400  APPENDIX. 

II  secol  pien  d'errori  oscuri  e  folti  : 

Tre  dolci  e  eari  nomi  ha'  in  te  raccolti, 
"  Madre,  Figliuola,  e  Sposa  ; 

Vergine  gloriosa. 
Donna  del  Re  die  nostri  lacci  ha  sciolti, 

E  fatto  '1  mondo  libero  e  felice  ; 
Nelle  cui  sante  piaghe 

Prego  ch'appaghe  il  cor,  vera  beatrice. 

Vergine  sola  al  mondo  senza  esempio, 
Che  '1  ciel  di  tue  bellezze  innamorasti, 

Cui  ne  prima  fu  sirail,  ne  seconda  ; 
Santi  pensieri,  atti  pietosi  e  casti 

Al  vero  Dio  sacrato,  e  vivo  tempio 
Fecero  in  tua  virginita  feconda. 

Per  te  puo  la  mia  vita  esser  gioconda ; 
S'  a'  tuoi  preghi,  o  Maria 

Vergine  dolce,  e  pia, 
Ove  '1  fallo  abbondo,  la  grazia  abbonda. 

Con  le  ginocchia  della  mente  inchine 
Prego  che  sia  mia  scorta  ; 

E  la  mia  torta  via  drizzi  a  buon  fine. 

Vergine  chiara,  e  stabile  in  eterno, 
Di  questo  tempestoso  mare  stella  ; 

D'ogni  fedel  nocchier  fidata  gui  da  ; 
Pon  mente  in  che  terribile  procella 

I  mi  ritrovo  sol  senza  governo, 
Ed  ho  gia'  da  vicin  I'ulti  me  strida : 

Ma  pur'  in  te  I'anima  mia  si  fida  ; 
Peccatrice  ;  i'  nol  nego, 

Vergine  :  ma  te  prego 
Che  '1  tuo  nemico  del  mia  mal  non  rida  : 

Ricorditi  che  fece  il  peccar  nostro 
Prender  Dio,  per  scamparne, 

Umana  came  al  tuo  virginal  christro. 

Vergine,  quante  lagrime  ho  gia  sparte, 
Quante  lusinghe,  e  quanti  preghi  indarno. 

Pur  per  mia  pena,  e  per  mio  grave  danno  ! 
Da  poi  ch'  i  nacqui  in  su  la  riva  d'Arno  ; 


APPENDIX.  401 

Cercando  or  questa  ed  or  quell  altra  parte, 
Non  e  stata  mia  vita  altro  cli'  aifanno. 

Mortal  bellezza,  atti,  e  parole  m'  hanno 
Tutta  ingombrata  Palma. 

Vergine  sacra,  ed  alma, 
Non  tardar  ;  ch'  i'  non  forse  all'  ultim  'ann, 

I  di  miei  piu  correnti  che  saetta, 
f  ra  miserie  e  peccati 

Sonsen  andati,  e  sol  Morte  n'aspetta. 

Vergine,  tale  e  terra,  e  posto  ha  in  doglia 
Lo  mio  cor  ;  che  vivendo  in  pianto  il  tenne  ; 

E  di  mille  miei  mali  un  non  sapea  ; 
E  per  saperlo,  pur  quel  che  n'avvenne, 

Fora  avvenuto  :  ch'  ogni  altra  sua  voglia 
Era  a  me  morte,  ed  a  lei  fama  rea 

Or  tu,  donna  del  ciel,  tu  nostra  Dea, 
Se  dir  lice,  e  conviensi ; 

Vergine  d'alti  sensi, 
Tu  vedi  il  tutto  ;  e  quel  che  non  potea 

Far  altri,  e  nulla  a  e  la  tua  gran  virtute  ; 
Pon  fine  al  mio  dolore  ; 

Ch'a  te  onore  ed  a  me  fia  salute. 

Vergine,  in  cui  ho  tutta  mia  speranza 
Che  possi  e  vogli  al  gran  bisogno  aitarme  ; 

Non  mi  lasciare  in  su  I'estremo  passo  : 
Non  guardar  me,  ma  chi  degno  crearme  ; 

No'l  mio  valor,  ma  I'alta  sua  sembianza  ; 
Che  in  me  ti  mova  a  curar  d'uorm  si  basso. 

Medusa,  e  Terror  mio  io  han  fatto  un  sasso 
D'umor  vano  stillante  ; 

Vergine,  tu  di  sante 
Lagrime,  e  pie  adempi  '1  mio  cor  lasso  ; 

Ch'  almen  I'ultimo  pianto  sia  divoto, 
Senza  terrestro  limo  ; 

Come  fu'l  primo  non  d'insania  voto. 

Vergine  umana,  e  nemica  d'orgoglio, 
Del  comune  principio  amor  t'induca  ; 

Miserere  d'un  cor  contrite  umile  ; 
Che  se  poca  mortal  terra  caduca 

34* 


402  APPENDIX. 

Amar  con  si  mirabil  fede  soglio  ; 
Che  devro  far  di  te  cosa  gentile  ? 

Se  dal  mio  stato  assai  misero,  e  vile 
Per  le  tue  man  resurgo, 

Vergine  ;  e'  sacro,  e  purgo 
Al  tuo  nome  e  pens  ieri  e'ngegno,  e  stile  ; 

La  lingua,  e'l  cor,  le  lagrime,  e  i  sospiri, 
Scorgimi  al  miglior  guado  ; 

E  prendi  in  grado  i  cangiati  desiri. 

II  di  s  appressa,  e  non  pote  esser  lunge  ; 
Si  corre  il  tempo,  e  vola, 

Vergine  unica,  e  sola  ; 
E'l  cor'  or  conscienza,  or  morte  punge. 
Raccommandami  al  tuo  Figliuol,  verace 

Uomo,  e  verace  Dio  ; 
Ch  accolga  1  mio  spirto  ultimo  in  pace. 

As  the  Scandinavian  represented  Frigga  the  Earth,  or  World- 
mother,  knowing  all  things,  yet  never  herself  revealing  them, 
though  ready  to  be  called  to  counsel  by  the  gods,  it  represents 
her  in  action,  decked  vfith  jewels  and  gorgeously  attended.  But, 
says  the  Mythos,  when  she  ascended  the  throne  of  Odin,  her  con- 
sort (Haaven),  she  left  with  mortals  her  friend,  the  Goddess  of 
Sympathy,  to  protect  them  in  her  absence. 

Since,  Sympathy  goes  about  to  do  good.  Especially  she  devotes 
herself  to  the  most  valiant  and  the  most  oppressed.  She  consoles 
the  gods  in  some  degree  even  for  the  death  of  their  darling  Baldur. 
Among  the  heavenly  powers  she  has  no  consort. 


0. 
THE  WEDDING  OF  THE  LADY   THERESA. 

FROM    LOCKHABT'S    SPANISH    BALLADS. 

'T  WAS  when  the  fifth  Alphonso  in  Leon  held  his  sway. 
King  Abdalla  of  Toledo  an  embassy  did  send  ; 

He  asked  his  sister  for  a  wife,  and  in  an  evil  day 
Alphonso  sent  her,  for  he  feared  Abdalla  to  oflfend  ; 


APPE2TDIX.  403 

He  fearad  to  move  his  anger,  for  many  times  before 
He  had  received  in  danger  much  succor  from  the  Moor. 

Sad  heart  had  fair  Theresa,  when  she  their  paction  knew  ; 

With  streaming  tears  she  heard  them  tell  she   'mong  the  Moors 
must  go  ; 
That  she,  a  Christian  damsel,  a  Christian  firm  and  true. 

Must  wed  a  Moorish  husband,  it  well  might  cause  her  woe  ; 
But  all  her  tears  and  all  her  prayers  they  are  of  small  avail ; 

At  length  she  for  her  fate  prepares,  a  victim  sad  and  pale. 

The  king  hath  sent  his  sister  to  fair  Toledo  town, 

"Where  then  the  Moor  Abdalla  his  royal  state  did  keep  ; 

"When  she  drew  near,  the  Moslem  from  his  golden  throne  came  down, 
And  courteously  received  her,  and  bade  her  cease  to  weep  ; 

"With  loving  words  he  pressed  her  to  come  his  bower  within  ; 

With  kisses  he  caressed  her,  but  still  she  feared  the  sin. 

**  Sir  King,  Sir  King,  I  pray  thee,"  —  't  was  thus  Theresa  spake,  — 
*'  I  pray  thee,  have  compassion,  and  do  to  me  no  wrong  ; 

For  sleep  with  thee  I  may  not,  unless  the  vows  I  break. 
Whereby  I  to  the  holy  church  of  Christ  my  Lord  belong  ; 

For  thou  hast  sworn  to  serve  Mahoun,  and  if  this  thing  should  be. 

The  curse  of  God  it  must  bring  down  upon  thy  realm  and  thee. 

**  The  angel  of  Christ  Jesu,  to  whom  my  heavenly  Lord 
Hath  given  my  soul  in  keeping,  is  ever  by  my  side  ; 

If  thou  dost  me  dishonor,  he  will  unsheathe  his  sword. 
And  smite  thy  body  fiercely,  at  the  crying  of  thy  bride  ; 

Invisible  he  standeth  ;  his  sword  like  fiery  flame 

Will  penetrate  thy  bosom  the  hour  that  sees  my  shame." 

The  Moslem  heard  her  with  a  smile  ;  the  earnest  words  she  said 
He  took  for  bashful  maiden's  wile,  and  drew  her  to  his  bower  . 

In  vain  Theresa  prayed  and  strove, —  she  pressed  Abdalla's  bed. 
Perforce  received  his  kiss  of  love,  and  lost  her  maiden  flower. 

A  woeful  woman  there  she  lay,  a  loving  lord  beside. 

And  earnestly  to  God  did  pray  her  succor  to  provide. 

The  angel  of  Christ  Jesu  her  sore  complaint  did  hear, 

And  plucked  his  heavenly  weapon  from  out  his  sheath  unseen  : 

He  waved  the  brand  in  his  right  hand,  and  to  the  King  came  near. 
And  drew  the  point  o'er  limb  and  joint,  beside  the  weeping  Queen : 


404  APPENDIX. 

A  mortal  weakness  from  the  stroke  upon  the  King  did  fall ; 

He  could  not  stand  when  daylight  broke,  but  on  his  knees  must  crawl. 

Abdalla  shuddered  inly,  when  he  this  sickness  felt, 
And  called  upon  his  barons,  his  pillow  to  come  nigh  ; 

••  Rise  up,"  he  said,  "  my  liegemen,"  as  round  his  bed  they  knelt, 
'*  And  take  this  Christian  lady,  else  certainly  I  die  ; 

Let  gold  be  in  your  girdles,  and  precious  stones  beside. 

And  swiftly  ride  to  Leon,  and  render  up  my  bride." 

When  they  were  come  to  Leon  Theresa  would  not  go 
Into  her  brother's  dwelling,  where  her  maiden  years  were  spent ; 

But  o'er  her  downcast  visage  a  white  veil  she  did  throw. 
And  to  the  ancient  nunnery  of  Las  Huelgaswent. 

There,  long,  from  worldly  eyes  retired,  a  holy  life  she  led  ; 

There  she,  an  aged  saint,  expired  ;  there  sleeps  she  with  the  dead. 


D. 

The  following  extract  from  Spinoza  is  worthy  of  attention,  as 
expressing  the  view  which  a  man  of  the  largest  intellectual  scope 
may  take  of  Woman,  if  that  part  of  his  life  to  which  her  influ- 
ence appeals  has  been  left  unawakened.  He  was  a  man  of  the 
largest  intellect,  of  unsurpassed  reasoning  powers  ;  yet  he  makes 
a  statement  false  to  history,  for  we  well  know  how  often  men  and 
women  have  ruled  together  without  diflficulty,  and  one  in  which 
very  few  men  even  at  the  present  day — I  mean  men  who  are 
thinkers,  like  him  —  would  acquiesce. 

I  have  put  in  contrast  with  it  three  expressions  of  the  latest 
literature. 

First,  from  the  poems  of  W.  E.  Channing,  a  poem  called 
"  Reverence,"  equally  remarkable  for  the  deep  wisdom  of  its 
thought  and  the  beauty  of  its  utterance,  and  containing  as  fine  a 
description  of  one  class  of  women  as  exists  in  literature. 

In  contrast  with  this  picture  of  Woman,  the  happy  Goddess  of 
Beauty,  the  wife,  the  friend,  "  the  summer  queen,"  I  add  one 
by  the  author  of  "  Festus,"  of  a  woman  of  the  muse,  the  sybil 
kind,  which  seems  painted  from  living  experience. 


APPENDIX.  405 

And,  thirdly,  I  subjoin  Eugene  Sue's  description  of  a  wicked  but 
able  -woman  of  the  practical  sort,  and  appeal  to  all  readers 
■whether  a  species  that  admits  of  three  such  varieties  is  so  easily  to 
be  classed  away,  or  kept  within  prescribed  limits,  as  Spinoza,  and 
those  who  think  like  him,  believe. 

SPINOZA.      TRACTATUS   POLITICI    DE   DEMO  GRATIA. 
CAPUT   XI. 

Perhaps  some  one  will  here  ask,  whether  the  supremacy  of 
Man  over  Woman  is  attributable  to  nature  or  custom  ?  Since,  if 
it  be  human  institutions  alone  to  which  this  fact  is  owing,  there 
is  no  reason  why  we  should  exclude  women  from  a  share  in  gov- 
ernment. Experience  most  plainly  teaches  that  it  is  Woman's 
weakness  which  places  her  under  the  authority  of  Man.  It  has 
nowhere  happened  that  men  and  women  ruled  together  ;  but 
wherever  men  and  women  are  found,  the  world  over,  there  we  see 
the  men  ruling  and  the  women  ruled,  and  in  this  order  of  things 
men  and  women  live  together  in  peace  and  harmony.  The  Ama- 
zons, it  is  true,  are  reputed  formerly  to  have  held  the  reins  of 
government,  but  they  drove  men  from  their  dominions ;  the  male 
of  their  offspring  they  invariably  destroyed,  permitting  their 
daughters  alone  to  live.  Now,  if  women  were  by  nature  upon  an 
equality  with  men,  if  they  equalled  men  in  fortitude,  in  genius 
(qualities  which  give  to  men  might,  and  consequently  right) ,  it 
surely  would  be  the  case,  that,  among  the  numerous  and  diverse  na- 
tions of  the  earth,  some  would  be  found  where  both  sexes  ruled 
conjointly,  and  others  where  the  men  were  ruled  by  the  women, 
and  so  educated  as  to  be  mentally  inferior  ;  and  since  this  state 
of  things  nowhere  exists,  it  is  perfectly  fair  to  infer  that  the 
rights  of  women  are  not  equal  to  those  of  men  ;  but  that  women 
must  be  subordinate,  and  therefore  cannot  have  an  equal,  far  less 
a  superior  place  in  the  government.  If,  too,  we  consider  the  pas- 
sions of  men  —  how  the  love  men  feel  towards  women  is  seldom 
anything  but  lust  and  impulse,  and  much  less  a  reverence  for 
qualities  of  soul  than  an  admiration  of  physical  beauty ;  observ- 
ing, too,  the  jealousy  of  lovers,  and  other  things  of  the  same 
character—  we  shall  see  at  a  glance  that  it  would  be,  in  the  high- 


406  APPENDIX. 

est  degree,  detrimental  to  peace  and  harmony,  for  men  and  women 
to  possess  an  equal  share  in  government. 

REVERENCE. 

As  an  ancestral  heritage  revere 
AH  learning,  and  all  thought.     The  painter's  fame 
Is  thine,  whate'er  thy  lot,  who  honorest  grace. 
Ajid  need  enough  in  this  low  time,  when  they. 
Who  seek  to  captivate  the  fleeting  notes 
Of  heaven's  sweet  beauty,  must  despair  almost. 
So  heavy  and  obdurate  show  the  hearts 
Of  their  companions.     Honor  kindly  then 
Those  who  bear  up  in  their  so  generous  arms 
The  beautiful  ideas  of  matchless  forms  ; 
For  were  these  not  portrayed,  our  human  fate,  — 
Which  is  to  be  all  high,  majestical. 
To  grow  to  goodness  with  each  coming  age. 
Till  virtue  leap  and  sing  for  joy  to  see 
So  noble,  virtuous  men,  —  would  brief  decay  ; 
And  the  green,  festering  slime,  oblivious,  haunt 
About  our  common  fate.     0,  honor  them  ! 

But  what  to  all  true  eyes  has  chiefest  charm. 

And  what  to  every  breast  where  beats  a  heart 

Framed  to  one  beautiful  emotion,  —  to 

One  sweet  and  natural  feeling,  lends  a  grace 

To  all  the  tedious  walks  of  common  life. 

This  is  fair  Woman,  —  Woman,  whose  applause 

Each  poet  sings,  —  Woman  the  beautiful. 

Not  that  her  fairest  brow,  or  gentlest  form. 

Charm  us  to  tears  ;  not  that  the  smoothest  cheek. 

Wherever  rosy  tints  have  made  their  home. 

So  rivet  us  on  her  ;  but  that  she  is 

The  subtle,  delicate  grace,  —  the  inward  grace. 

For  words  too  excellent ;  the  noble,  true. 

The  majesty  of  earth  ;  the  summer  queen  ; 

In  whose  conceptions  nothing  but  what 's  great 

Has  any  right.     And,  0  !  her  love  for  him. 

Who  doer  but  his  small  part  in  honoring  her  ; 

Discharging  a  sweet  ofl&ce,  sweeter  none. 


APPENDIX.  407 

Mother  and  child,  friend,  counsel  and  repose  ; 

Naught  matches  with  her,  naught  has  leave  with  her 

To  highest  human  praise.     Farewell  to  him 

Who  reverences  not  with  an  excess 

Of  faith  the  beauteous  sex  ;  all  barren  he 

Shall  live  a  living  death  of  mockery. 

Ah  !  had  but  words  the  power,  what  could  we  say 

Of  Woman  !     We,  rude  men  of  violent  phrase. 

Harsh  action,  even  in  repose  inwardly  harsh  ; 

Whose  lives  walk  blustering  on  high  stilts,  removed 

From  all  the  purely  gracious  influence 

Of  mother  earth.     To  single  from  the  host 

Of  angel  forms  one  only,  and  to  her 

Devote  our  deepest  heart  and  deepest  mind. 

Seems  almost  contradiction.     Unto  her 

We  owe  our  greatest  blessings,  hours  of  cheer. 

Gay  smiles,  and  sudden  tears,  and  more  than  these 

A  sure  perpetual  love.     Regard  her  as 

She  walks  along  the  vast  still  earth  ;  and  see  ! 

Before  her  flies  a  laughing  troop  of  joys. 

And  by  her  side  treads  old  experience. 

With  never-failing  voice  admonitory  ; 

The  gentle,  though  infallible,  kind  advice. 

The  watchful  care,  the  fine  regardfulness. 

Whatever  mates  with  what  we  hope  to  find. 

All  consummate  in  her  —  the  summer  queen. 

To  call  past  ages  better  than  what  now 

Man  is  enacting  on  life's  crowded  stage. 

Cannot  improve  our  worth  ;  and  for  the  world 

Blue  is  the  sky  as  ever,  and  the  stars 

Kindle  their  crystal  flames  at  soft  fallen  eve 

With  the  same  purest  lustre  that  the  east 

Worshipped.     The  river  gently  flows  through  fields 

Where  the  broad-leaved  corn  spreads  out,  and  loads 

Its  ear  as  when  the  Indian  tilled  the  soU. 

The  dark  green  pine,  —  green  in  the  winter's  cold, — 

Still  whispers  meaning  emblems,  as  of  old  ; 

The  cricket  chirps,  and  the  sweet  eager  birds 

In  the  sad  woods  crowd  their  thick  melodies  ; 

But  yet,  to  common  eyes,  life's  poetry 


408  APPENDIX. 

Something  has  faded,  and  the  cause  of  this 

May  be  that  Man,  no  longer  at  the  shrine 

Of  Woman,  kneeling  with  true  reverence, 

In  spite  of  field,  wood,  river,  stars  and  sea. 

Goes  most  disconsolate.     A  babble  now, 

A  huge  and  wind-swelled  babble,  fills  the  place 

Of  that  great  adoration  which  of  old 

Man  had  for  Woman.    In  these  days  no  more 

Is  love  the  pith  and  marrow  of  Man's  fate. 

Thou  who  in  early  years  feelest  awake 

To  finest  impulses  from  nature's  breath, 

And  in  thy  walk  hearest  such  sounds  of  truth 

As  on  the  common  ear  strike  without  heed. 

Beware  of  men  around  thee  !    Men  are  foul 

With  avarice,  ambition  and  deceit  ; 

The  worst  of  all,  ambition.     This  is  life. 

Spent  in  a  feverish  chase  for  selfish  ends. 

Which  has  no  virtue  to  redeem  its  toil. 

But  one  long,  stagnant  hope  to  raise  the  self. 

The  miser's  life  to  this  seems  sweet  and  fair ; 

Better  to  pile  the  glittering  coin,  than  seek 

To  overtop  our  brothers  and  our  loves. 

Merit  in  this  ?     Where  lies  it,  though  thy  name 

Ring  over  distant  lands,  meeting  the  wind 

Even  on  the  extremest  verge  of  the  wide  world  ? 

Merit  in  this  ?     Better  be  hurled  abroad 

On  the  vast  whirling  tide,  than,  in  thyself 

Concentred,  feed  upon  thy  own  applause. 

Thee  shall  the  good  man  yield  no  reverence  ; 

But,  while  the  idle,  dissolute  crowd  are  loud 

In  voice  to  send  thee  flattery,  shall  rejoice 

That  he  has  'scaped  thy  fatal  doom,  and  known 

How  humble  faith  in  the  good  soul  of  things 

Provides  amplest  enjoyment.     0,  my  brother 

If  the  Past's  counsel  any  honor  claim 

From  thee,  go  read  the  history  of  those 

Who  a  like  path  have  trod,  and  see  a  fate 

Wretched  with  fears,  changing  like  leaves  at  noon. 

When  the  new  wind  sings  in  the  white  birch  wood. 

Learn  from  the  simple  child  the  rule  of  life. 

And  from  the  moTements  of  the  unconscious  tribes 


APPENDIX.  40S| 

Of  animal  nature,  those  that  bend  the  wing 

Or  cleave  the  azure  tide,  content  to  be, 

"What  the  great  frame  provides,  —  freedom  and  grace. 

Thee,  simple  child,  do  the  swift  winds  obey, 

And  the  white  waterfalls  with  their  bold  leaps 

Follow  thy  movements.     Tenderly  the  light 

Thea  watches,  girding  with  a  zone  of  radiance. 

And  all  the  swinging  herbs  love  thy  soft  steps. 

DESCRIPTION  OF  ANGELA,  FROM  "  FESTUS." 

I  LOVED  her  for  that  she  was  beautiful. 

And  that  to  me  she  seemed  to  be  all  nature 

And  all  varieties  of  things  in  one  ; 

Would  set  at  night  in  clouds  of  tears,  and  rise 

All  light  and  laughter  in  the  morning  ;  fear 

No  petty  customs  nor  appearances. 

But  think  what  others  only  dreamed  about ; 

And  say  what  others  did  but  think  ;  and  do 

What  others  would  but  say  ;  and  glory  in 

What  others  dared  but  do  ;  it  was  these  which  won  me  ; 

And  that  she  never  schooled  within  her  breast 

One  thought  or  feeling,  but  gave  holiday 

To  all  ;  that  she  told  me  all  her  woes, 

And  wrongs,  and  ills  ;  and  so  she  made  them  mine 

In  the  communion  of  love  ;  and  we 

Grew  like  each  other,  for  we  loved  each  other  ; 

She,  mild  and  generous  as  the  sun  in  spring  ; 

And  I,  like  earth,  all  budding  out  with  love. 

****** 

The  beautiful  are  never  desolate  ; 
For  some  one  alway  loves  them  ;  God  or  man  ; 
K  man  abandons,  God  himself  takes  them  ; 
And  thus  it  was.     She  whom  I  once  loved  died  ; 
The  lightning  loathes  its  cloud  ;  the  soul  its  clay. 
Can  I  forget  the  hand  I  took  in  mine. 
Pale  as  pale  violets  ;  that  eye,  where  nind 
And  matter  met  alike  divine  ?  —  ah,  no  ! 
May  God  that  moment  judge  me  when  I  do  ! 

0  !  she  was  fair  ;  her  nature  once  all  spring 
And  deadly  beauty,  like  a  maiden  swerd, 

35 


410  APPENDIX. 

Startlingly  beautiful.    I  see  her  now  ! 
Wherever  thou  art  thy  soul  is  in  my  mind  ; 
Thy  shadow  hourly  lengthens  o'er  my  brain 
And  peoples  all  its  pictures  with  thyself ; 
Gone,  not  forgotten  ;  passed,  not  lost ;  thou  wilt  shine 
•        In  heaven  like  a  bright  spot  in  the  sun  ! 
She  said  she  wished  to  die,  and  so  she  died, 
For,  cloudlike,  she  poured  out  her  love,  which  was 
Her  life,  to  freshen  this  parched  heart.     It  was  thus  ; 
I  said  we  were  to  part,  but  she  said  nothing  ; 
There  was  no  discord  ;  it  was  music  ceased. 
Life's  thrilling,  bursting,  bounding  joy.     She  sate, 
Like  a  house-god,  her  hands  fixed  on  her  knee. 
And  her  dark  hair  lay  loose  and  long  behind  her. 
Through  which  her  wild  bright  eye  flashed  like  a  flint ; 
She  spake  not,  moved  not,  but  she  looked  the  more. 
As  if  her  eye  were  action,  speech,  and  feeling. 
I  felt  it  all,  and  came  and  knelt  beside  her. 
The  electric  touch  solved  both  our  souls  together  ; 
Then  came  the  feeling  which  unmakes,  undoes  ; 
Which  tears  the  sea-like  soul  up  by  the  roots. 
And  lashes  it  in  scorn  against  the  skies. 

***** 
It  is  the  saddest  and  the  sorest  sight. 
One's  own  love  weeping.     But  why  call  on  God  ? 
But  that  the  feeling  of  the  boundless  bounds 
All  feeling  ;  as  the  welkin  does  the  world  ; 
It  is  this  which  ones  us  with  the  whole  and  God. 
Then  first  we  wept ;  then  closed  and  clung  together  ; 
And  my  heart  shook  this  building  of  my  breast 
Like  a  live  engine  booming  up  and  down  : 
She  fell  upon  me  like  a  snow-wreath  thawing. 
Never  were  bliss  and  beauty,  love  and  woe. 
Ravelled  and  twined  together  into  madness. 
As  in  that  one  wild  hour  to  which  all  else 
The  past  is  but  a  picture.     That  alone 
Is  real,  and  forever  there  in  front. 

•  *  «  *  * 

*  *  *    After  that  I  left  her. 
And  only  saw  her  once  again  alive. 


APPENDIX.  411 

"  Mother  Saint  Perpetua,  the  superior  of  the  convent,  was  a 
tall  woman,  of  about  forty  years,  dressed  in  dark  gray  serge,  with 
a  long  rosary  hanging  at  her  girdle.  A  white  mob-cap,  with  a 
long  black  veil,  surrounded  her  thin,  wan  face  with  its  narrow, 
hooded  border,  A  great  number  of  deep,  transverse  wrinkles 
ploughed  her  brow,  which  resembled  yellowish  ivory  in  color  and 
substance.  Her  keen  and  prominent  nose  was  curved  like  the 
hooked  beak  of  a  bird  of  prey  ;  her  black  eye  was  piercing  and 
sagacious  ;  her  face  was  at  once  intelligent,  firm,  and  cold. 

"  For  comprehending  and  managing  the  material  interests  of 
the  society.  Mother  Saint  Perpetua  could  have  vied  with  the 
shrewdest  and  most  wily  lawyer.  When  women  are  possessed  of 
what  is  called  business  talent,  and  when  they  apply  thereto  the 
sharpness  of  perception,  the  indefatigable  perseverance,  the  pru- 
dent dissimulation,  and,  above  all,  the  correctness  and  rapidity  of 
judgment  at  first  sight,  which  are  peculiar  to  them,  they  arrive  at 
prodigious  results. 

"  To  Mother  Saint  Perpetua,  a  woman  of  a  strong  and  solid 
head,  the  vast  moneyed  business  of  the  society  was  but  child's 
play.  None  better  than  she  understood  how  to  buy  depreciated 
properties,  to  raise  them  to  their  original  value,  and  sell  them  to 
advantage ;  the  average  purchase  of  rents,  the  fluctuations  of  ex- 
change, and  the  current  prices  of  shares  in  all  the  leading  specu- 
lations, were  perfectly  familiar  to  her.  Never  had  she  directed 
her  agents  to  make  a  single  false  speculation,  when  it  had  been 
the  question  how  to  invest  funds,  with  which  good  souls  were 
constantly  endowing  the  society  of  Saint  Mary.  She  had  estab- 
lished in  the  house  a  degree  of  order,  of  discipline,  and,  above  all, 
of  economy,  that  were  indeed  remarkable  ;  the  constant  aim  of 
all  her  exertions  being,  not  to  enrich  herself,  but  the  community 
over  which  she  presided  ;  fiDr  the  spirit  of  association,  when  it  is 
directed  to  an  object  of  collective  selfishness,  gives  to  corporations 
all  the  faults  and  vices  of  individuals." 


E. 

The  following  is  an  extract  from  a  letter  addressed  to  me  by 
one  of  the  monks  of  the  nineteenth  century.     A  part  I  have 


412  APPENDIX. 

omitted,  because  it  does  not  express  my  own  view,  unless  with 
qualifications  which  I  could  not  make,  except  by  full  discussion 
of  the  subject. 

"  Woman  in  the  Nineteenth  Century  should  be  a  pure,  chaste, 
holy  being. 

**  This  state  of  being  in  Woman  is  no  more  attained  by  the  ex- 
pansion of  her  intellectual  capacity,  than  by  the  augmentation  of 
her  physical  force. 

"  Neither  is  it  attained  by  the  increase  or  refinement  of  her  love 
for  Man,  or  for  any  object  whatever,  or  for  all  objects  collectively ; 
but 

"  This  state  of  being  is  attained  by  the  reference  of  all  her  pow- 
ers and  all  her  actions  to  the  source  of  Universal  Love,  whose 
constant  requisition  is  a  pure,  chaste  and  holy  life. 

"  So  long  as  Woman  looks  to  Man  (or  to  society)  for  that  which 
she  needs,  she  will  remain  in  an  indigent  state,  for  he  himself  is 
indigent  of  it,  and  as  much  needs  it  as  she  does. 

"  So  long  as  this  indigence  continues,  all  unions  or  relations 
constructed  between  Man  and  Woman  are  constructed  in  indi- 
gence, and  can  produce  only  indigent  results  or  unhappy  conse- 
quences. 

"  The  unions  now  constructing,  as  well  as  those  in  which  the 
parties  constructing  them  were  generated,  being  based  on  self- 
delight,  or  lust,  can  lead  to  no  more  happiness  in  the  twentieth 
than  is  found  in  the  nineteenth  century. 

*'  It  is  not  amended  institutions,  it  is  not  improved  education,  it 
is  not  another  selection  of  individuals  for  union,  that  can  melio- 
rate the  sad  result,  but  the  basis  of  the  union  must  be  changed. 

"  If  in  the  natural  order  Woman  and  Man  would  adhere  strictly 
to  physiological  or  natural  laws,  in  physical  chastity,  a  most 
beautiful  amendment  of  the  human  race,  and  human  condition, 
would  in  a  few  generations  adorn  the  world. 

"  Still,  it  belongs  to  Woman  in  the  spiritual  order,  to  devote  her- 
self wholly  to  her  eternal  husband,  and  become  the  Free  Bride  of 
the  One  who  alone  can  elevate  her  to  her  true  position,  and  recon- 
struct her  \  pure,  chaste,  and  holy  being." 


APPENDIX.  413 


F. 


I  liAVE  mislaid  an  extract  from  "  The  Memoirs  of  an  American 
Lady,"  which  I  wished  to  use  on  this  subject,  but  its  import  is, 
briefly,  this : 

Observing  of  how  little  consequence  the  Indian  women  are  in 
youth,  and  how  much  in  age,  because  in  that  trying  life,  good 
counsel  and  sagacity  are  more  prized  than  charms,  Mrs.  Grant 
expresses  a  wish  that  reformers  would  take  a  hint  from  observa- 
tion of  this  circumstance. 

In  another  place  she  says  :  *'  The  misfortune  of  our  sex  is,  that 
young  women  are  not  regarded  as  the  material  from  which  old 
women  must  be  made." 

I  quote  from  memory,  but  believe  the  weight  of  the  remark  is 
retained. 


Euripides.     Sophocles. 

As  many  allusions  are  made  in  the  foregoing  pages  to  char- 
a:;ters  of  women  drawn  by  the  Greek  dramatists,  which  may  not 
ije  familiar  to  the  majority  of  readers,  I  have  borrowed  from  the 
papers  of  Miranda  some  notes  upon  them.  I  trust  the  girlish 
tone  of  apostrophizing  rapture  may  be  excused.  Miranda  was 
very  young  at  the  time  of  writing,  compared  with  her  present 
mental  age.  Now,  she  would  express  the  same  feelings,  but  in  a 
worthier  garb  —  if  she  expressed  them  at  all. 

Iphigenia !  Antigone  !,  you  were  worthy  to  live  !  We  are 
fallen  on  evil  times,  my  sisters  ;  our  feelings  have  been  checked  ; 
our  thoughts  questioned ;  our  forms  dwarfed  and  defaced  by  a 
bad  nurture.  Yet  hearts  like  yours  are  in  our  breasts,  living,  if 
unawakened  ;  and  our  minds  are  capable  of  the  same  resolves. 
You  we  understand  at  once  ;  those  who  stare  upon  us  pertly  in 
the  street,  we  cannot  —  could  never  understand. 

You  knew  heroes,  maidens,  and  your  fathers  were  kings  of 
men.  You  believed  in  your  country  and  the  gods  of  your  coun- 
try. A  great  occasion  was  given  to  each,  whereby  to  test  her 
character. 

35* 


414  APPENDIX. 

You  did  not  love  on  earth  ;  for  the  poets  wished  to  show  us 
the  force  of  Woman's  nature,  virgin  and  unbiased.  Vou  were 
women  ;  not  wives,  or  lovers,  or  mothers.  Those  are  great  names, 
but  we  are  glad  to  see  you  in  untouched  flower. 

Were  brothers  so  dear,  then,  Antigone?  We  have  no  brothers. 
We  see  no  men  into  whose  lives  we  dare  look  steadfastly,  or  to 
whose  destinies  we  look  forward  confidently.  We  care  not  for 
their  urns  ;  what  inscription  could  we  put  upon  them  ?  They 
live  for  petty  successes,  or  to  win  daily  the  bread  of  the  day.  No 
spark  of  kingly  fire  flashes  from  their  eyes. 

None  !  are  there  none  ? 

It  is  a  base  speech  to  say  it.  Yes  !  there  are  some  such  ;  we 
have  sometimes  caught  their  glances.  But  rarely  have  they  been 
rocked  in  the  same  cradle  as  we,  and  they  do  not  look  upon  ua 
much  ;  for  the  time  is  not  yet  come. 

Thou  art  so  grand  and  simple !  we  need  not  follow  thee ;  thou 
dost  not  need  our  love. 

But,  sweetest  Iphigenia !  who  knew  thee,  as  to  me  thou  art 
known  ?  I  was  not  born  in  vain,  if  only  for  the  heavenly  tears  I 
have  shed  with  thee.  She  will  be  grateful  for  them.  I  have 
understood  her  wholly,  as  a  friend  should  ;  better  than  she  under- 
stood herself 

With  what  artless  art  the  narrative  rises  to  the  crisis !  The 
conflicts  in  Agamemnon's  mind,  and  the  imputations  of  Menelaus, 
give  us,  at  once,  the  full  image  of  him,  strong  in  will  and  pride, 
weak  in  virtue,  weak  in  the  noble  powers  of  the  mind  that  depend 
on  imagination.  He  suffers,  yet  it  requires  the  presence  of  his 
daughter  to  make  him  feel  the  full  horror  of  what  he  is  to  do. 

**  Ah  me  !  that  breast,  those  cheeks,  those  golden  tresses  !  " 

It  is  her  beauty,  not  her  misery,  that  makes  the  pathos.  This 
is  noble.  And  then,  too,  the  injustice  of  the  gods,  that  she,  this 
creature  of  unblemished  loveliness,  must  perish  for  the  sake  of  a 
worthless  woman.  Even  Menelaus  feels  it  the  moment  he  recov- 
ers from  his  wrath. 

*'  What  hath  she  to  do. 
The  virgin  daughter,  with  my  Helena  ! 

*  *  Its  former  reasonings  now 

My  soul  foregoes.  *  *  *  ♦ 


APPENDIX.  ,  415 

For  it  is  not  just 
That  thou  shouldst  groan,  while  my  affairs  go  pleasantly, 
That  those  of  thy  house  should  die,  and  mine  see  the  light.'* 

Indeed,  the  overwhelmed  aspect  of  the  king  of  men  might  -well 
move  him. 

**  Men.    Brother,  give  me  to  take  thy  right  hand. 

Aga.    I  give  it, /or  the  victory  is  thine,  and  I  am  vf retched. 
I  am,  indeed,  ashamed  to  drop  the  tear. 
And  not  to  drop  the  tear  I  am  ashamed." 

How  beautifully  is  Iphigenia  introduced ;  beaming  more  and 
more  softly  on  us  with  every  touch  of  description !  After  Clytem- 
nestra  has  given  Orestes  (then  an  infant)  out  of  the  chariot,  she 

"  Ye  females,  in  your  arms 
Receive  her,  for  she  is  of  tender  age. 
Sit  here  by  my  feet,  my  child. 
By  thy  mother,  Iphigenia,  and  show 
These  strangers  how  I  am  blessed  in  thee, 
And  here  address  thee  to  thy  father. 
Iphi.     0,  mother  !  should  I  run,  wouldst  thou  be  angry  ? 
And  embrace  my  father  heart  to  heart  ?  " 

"With  the  same  sweet,  timid  trust  she  prefers  the  request  to 
himself,  and,  as  he  holds  her  in  his  arms,  he  seems  as  noble  as 
Guido's  Archangel ;  as  if  he  never  could  sink  below  the  trust  of 
such  a  being ! 

The  Achilles,  in  the  first  scene,  is  fine.  A  true  Greek  hero ; 
not  too  good  ;  all  flushed  with  the  pride  of  youth,  but  capable  of 
godlike  impulses.  At  first,  he  thinks  only  of  his  own  wounded 
pride  (when  he  finds  Iphigenia  has  been  decoyed  to  Aulis  under 
the  pretext  of  becoming  his  wife)  ;  but  the  grief  of  the  queen 
soon  makes  him  superior  to  his  arrogant  chafings.     How  well  ho 

says, 

*'Far  as  a  young  man  may,  I  will  repress 
So  great  a  wrong  !  " 

By  seeing  him  here,  we  understand  why  he,  not  Hector,  was 
the  hero  of  the  Iliad.  The  beautiful  moral  nature  of  Hector  waa 
early  developed  by  close  domestic  ties,  and  the  cause  of  his  coun- 


416  APPENDIX. 

try.  Except  in  a  purer  simplicity  of  speech  and  manner,  he 
might  be  a  modern  and  a  Christian.  But  Achilles  is  cast  in  the 
largest  and  most  vigorous  mould  of  the  earlier  day.  His  nature 
is  one  of  the  richest  capabilities,  and  therefore  less  quickly  unfolds 
its  meaning.  The  impression  it  makes  at  the  early  period  is  only 
of  power  and  pride  ;  running  as  fleetly  with  his  armor  on  as  with 
it  off;  but  sparks  of  pure  lustre  are  struck,  at  moments,  from  the 
mass  of  ore.  Of  this  sort  is  his  refusal  to  see  the  beautiful  vir- 
gin he  has  promised  to  protect.  None  of  the  Grecians  must  have 
the  right  to  doubt  his  motives.  How  wise  and  prudent,  too,  the 
advice  he  gives  as  to  the  queen's  conduct !  Be  will  not  show  him- 
self unless  needed.  His  pride  is  the  farthest  possible  remote  from 
vanity.     His  thoughts  are  as  free  as  any  in  our  own  time. 

*•  The  prophet  ?  what  is  he  ?  a  man 

Who  speaks,  'mong  many  falsehoods,  but  few  truths. 
Whene'er  chance  leads  him  to  speak  true  ;  when  false, 
The  prophet  is  no  more." 

Had  Agamemnon  possessed  like  clearness  of  sight,  the  virgin 
would  not  have  perished,  but  Greece  would  have  had  no  religion 
and  no  national  existence. 

When,  in  the  interview  with  Agamemnon,  the  queen  begins  her 
speech,  in  the  true  matrimonial  style,  dignified  though  her  ges- 
ture be,  and  true  all  she  says,  w^e  feel  that  truth,  thus  sauced 
with  taunts,  will  not  touch  his  heart,  nor  turn  him  from  his  pur- 
pose. But  when  Iphigenia  begins  her  exquisite  speech,  as  with 
the  breathings  of  a  lute, — 

*'  Had  I,  my  father,  the  persuasive  voice 
Of  Orpheus,  &c. 
,  Compel  me  not 

What  is  beneath  to  view.     I  was  the  first 
To  call  thee  father  ;  me  thou  first  didst  call 
Thy  child.     I  was  the  first  that  on  thy  knees 
Fondly  caressed  thee,  and  from  thee  received 
The  fond  caress.     This  was  thy  speech  to  me :  — 
*  Shall  I,  my  child,  e'er  see  thee  in  some  house 
Of  splendor,  happy  in  thy  husband,  live 
And  flourish,  as  becomes  my  dignity  ? ' 


APPENDIX.      .  417 

My  speech  to  thee  was,  leaning  'gainst  thy  cheek, 
(Which  with  my  hand  I  now  caress)  :  '  And  what 
Shall  I  then  do  for  thee  ?     Shall  I  receive 
My  father  when  grown  old,  and  in  my  house 
Cheer  him  with  each  fond  ofi&ce,  to  repay 
The  careful  nurture  which  he  gave  my  youth  ?  ' 
These  'vords  are  in  my  memory  deep  impressed  ; 
Thou  hast  forgot  them,  and  will  kill  thy  child." 

Then  she  adjures  him  by  all  the  sacred  ties,  and  dwells  pa- 
thetically on  the  circumstance  which  had  struck  even  Menelaus. 

*'  If  Paris  be  enamored  of  his  bride. 
His  Helen, —  what  concerns  it  me  ?  and  how 
Comes  he  to  my  destruction  ? 

Look  upon  me  ; 
Give  me  a  smile,  give  me  a  kiss,  my  father  ; 
That,  if  my  words  persuade  thee  not,  in  death 
I  may  have  this  memorial  of  thy  love." 

Never  have  the  names  of  father  and  daughter  been  uttered  vdth 
a  holier  tenderness  than  by  Euripides,  as  in  this  most  lovely  pas- 
sage, or  in  the  '*  Supplicants,"  after  the  voluntary  death  of 
Evaine.     Iphis  says  : 

**  What  shall  this  wretch  now  do  ?     Should  I  return 
To  my  own  house  ?  —  sad  desolation  there 
I  shall  behold,  to  sink  my  soul  with  grief. 
Or  go  I  to  the  house  of  Capaneus  ? 
That  was  delightful  to  me,  when  I  found 
My  daughter  there  ;  but  she  is  there  no  more. 
Oft  would  she  kiss  my  cheek,  with  fond  caress 
Oft  soothe  me.     To  a  father,  waxing  old. 
Nothing  is  dearer  than  a  daughter  !     Sons 
Have  spirits  of  higher  pitch,  but  less  inclined 
To  sweet,  endearing  fondness.     Lead  me  then,. 
Instantly  lead  me  to  my  house  ;  consign 
My  wretched  age  to  darkness,  there  to  pine 
And  waste  away. 

Old  age. 
Struggling  with  many  griefe,  0,  how  I  hate  thee  !  '* 


418  ^     APPENDIX. 

But  io  return  to  Iphigenia, —  how  infinitely  melting  is  her 
appeal  tt)  Orestes,  whom  she  holds  in  her  robe ! 

*'  My  brother,  small  assistance  canst  thou  give 
Thy  friends  ;  yet  for  thy  sister  with  thy  tears 
Implore  thy  father  that  she  may  not  die. 
Even  infants  have  a  sense  of  ills  ;  and  see. 
My  father  !  silent  though  he  be,  he  sues 
To  thee.     Be  gentle  to  me ;  on  my  life 
Have  pity.     Thy  two  children  by  this  beard 
Entreat  thee,  thy  dear  children  ;  one  is  yet 
An  infant,  one  to  riper  years  arrived." 

The  mention  of  Orestes,  then  an  infant,  though  slight,  is  of  a 
domestic  charm  that  prepares  the  mind  to  feel  the  tragedy  of  his 
after  lot.     When  the  queen  says, 

*'  Dost  thou  sleep, 
My  son  ?    The  rolling  chariot  hath  subdued  thee  ; 
Wake  to  thy  sister's  marriage  happily," 

we  understand  the  horror  of  the  doom  which  makes  this  cher- 
ished child  a  parricide.  And  so,  when  Iphigenia  takes  leave  of 
him  after  her  fate  is  by  herself  accepted, — 

"  Iphi.    To  manhood  train  Orestes. 
Cly.     Embrace  him,  for  thou  ne'er  shalt  see  him  more. 
Iphi.    (To   Orestes.)    Far  as  thou  couldst,   thou  didst  assist  thy 
friends," — 

we  know  not  how  to  blame  the  guilt  of  the  maddened  wife  and 
mother.  In  her  last  meeting  with  Agamemnon,  as  in  her  pre- 
vious expostulations  and  anguish,  we  see  that  a  straw  may  turn 
the  balance,  and  make  her  his  deadliest  foe.  Just  then,  came  the 
suit  of  iEgisthus, —  then,  when  every  feeling  was  uprooted  or 
lacerated  i;|j  her  heart. 

Iphigenia's  moving  address  has  no  further  effect  than  to  make 
her  father  turn  at  bay  and  brave  this  terrible  crisis.  He  goes  out, 
firm  in  resolve ;  and  she  and  her  mother  abandon  themselves  to  a 
natural  grief. 


APPENDIX.  419 

Hitherto  nothing  has  been  seen  in  Iphigenia,  except  the  young 
girl,  weak,  delicate,  full  of  feeling, and  beautiful  as  a  sunbeam  on 
the  full,  green  tree.  But,  in  the  next  scene,  the  first  impulse  of 
that  passion  which  makes  and  unmakes  us,  though  unconfessed 
oven  to  herself,  though  hopeless  and  unreturned,  raises  her  at 
once  into  the  heroic  woman,  worthy  of  the  goddess  who  demands 
her. 

Achilles  appears  to  defend  her,  whom  all  others  clamorously 
seek  to  deliver  to  the  murderous  knife.  She  sees  him,  and,  fired 
with  thoughts  unknown  before,  devotes  herself  at  once  for  the 
country  which  has  given  birth  to  such  a  man. 

"To  be  too  fond  of  life 
Becomes  not  me  ;  nor  for  myself  alone, 
But  to  all  Greece,  a  blessing  didst  thou  bear  me. 
Shall  thousands,  when  their  country  's  injured,  lift 
Their  shields  ?  shall  thousands  grasp  the  oar  and  dare. 
Advancing  bravely  'gainst  the  foe,  to  die 
For  Greece  ?    And  shall  my  life,  my  single  life, 
Obstruct  all  this  ?    Would  this  be  just  ?    What  word 
Can  we  reply  ?    Nay  more,  it  is  not  right 
That  he  with  all  the  Grecians  should  contest 
In  fight,  should  die,  and  for  a  woman.     No  ! 
More  than  a  thousand  women  is  one  man 
Worthy  to  see  the  light  of  day. 
*         *         *       for  Greece  I  give  my  life. 
Slay  me  !  demolish  Troy  !  for  these  shall  be 
Long  time  my  monuments,  my  children  these. 
My  nuptials  and  my  glory." 

This  sentiment  marks  Woman,  when  she  loves  enough  to  feel 
what  a  creature  of  glory  and  beauty  a  true  Man  would  be,  as 
much  in  our  own  time  as  that  of  Euripides.  Cooper  makes  the 
'  weak  Hetty  say  to  her  beautiful  sister  : 

"  Of  course,  I  don't  compare  you  with  Harry.  A  handsome 
man  is  always  far  handsomer  than  any  woman."  True,  it  was 
the  sentiment  of  the  age,  but  it  was  the  first  time  Iphigenia  had 
felt  it.  In  Agamemnon  she  saw  her  father ;  to  him  she  could  pre- 
fer her  claim.     In  Achilles  she  saw  a  Man,  the  crown  of  creation, 


420  APPENDIX. 

enough  to  fill  the  world  with  his  presence,  were  all  other  beings 
blotted  from  its  spaces.* 

The  reply  of  Achilles  is  as  noble.  Here  is  his  bride  ;  he  feels  it 
now,  and  all  his  vain  vauntings  are  hushed. 

"  Daughter  of  Agamemnon,  highly  blest 
Some  god  would  make  me,  if  I  might  attain 
Thy  nuptials.     Greece  in  thee  I  happy  deem. 
And  thee  in  Greece.     *        * 

*  *  *     in  thy  thought 

Kevolve  this  well ;  death  is  a  dreadful  thing.'*. 

How  sweet  is  her  reply,  —  and  then  the  tender  modesty  with 
which  she  addresses  him  here  and  elsewhere  as  "  stranger. ^^ 

"  Reflecting  not  on  any,  thus  I  speak  : 
Enough  of  wars  and  slaughters  from  the  charms 
Of  Helen  rise  ;  but  die  not  thou  for  me, 
0  Stranger,  nor  distain  thy  sword  with  blood. 
But  let  me  save  my  country  if  I  may. 
Achilles.     0  glorious  spirit !  naught  have  I  'gainst  this 

To  urge,  since  such  thy  will,  for  what  thou  sayst 

Is  generous.     Why  should  not  the  truth  be  spoken?  " 

But  feeling  that  human  weakness  may  conquer  yet,  he  goes  to 
wq,it  at  the  altar,  resolved  to  keep  his  promise  of  protection 
thoroughly. 

In  the  next  beautiful  scene  she  shows  that  a  few  tears  might 
overwhelm  her  in  his  absence.  She  raises  her  mother  beyond 
weeping  them,  yet  her  soft  purity  she  cannot  impart. 

"  Iphi.  My  father,  and  my  husband  do  not  hate  : 

Cly.  For  thy  dear  sake  fierce  contests  must  he  bear. 

Iphi.  For  Greece  reluctant  me  to  death  he  yields  ; 

Cly.  Basely,  with  guile  unworthy  Atreus'  son." 

*  Men  do  not  often  reciprocate  this  pure  love. 

"  Her  prentice  ban'  she  tried  on  man. 
And  then  she  made  the  lasses  o'," 

is  a  fancy,  not  a  feeling,  in  their  more  frequently  passionate  and 
strong  than  noble  or  tender  natures. 


APPENDIX.  421 

This  is  truth  incapable  of  an  answer,  and  Iphigenia  attempts 
none. 
She  begins  the  hymn  which  is  to  sustain  her  : 

*'  Lead  me  ;  mine  the  glorious  fate 
To  o'ertum  the  Phrygian  state.* 

After  the  sublime  flow  of  lyric  heroism,  she  sudden" y  sinks 
back  into  the  tenderer  feeling  of  her  dreadful  fate. 

•*  0  my  country,  where  these  eyes 
Opened  on  Pelasgic  skies  ! 
0  ye  virgins,  once  my  pride. 
In  Mycenae  who  abide ! 

CHORUS. 

Why  of  Perseus,  name  the  town. 
Which  Cyclopean  ramparts  crown? 

IPHIGENIA. 

Me  you  reared  a  beam  of  light. 
Freely  now  I  sink  in  night.'* 

Freely ;  as  the  messenger  afterwards  recounts  it. 


Imperial  Agamemnon,  when  he  saw 
His  daughter,  as  a  victim  to  the  grave. 
Advancing,  groaned,  and,  bursting  into  tears. 
Turned  from  the  sight  his  head,  before  his  eyes. 
Holding  his  robe.     The  virgin  near  him  stood. 
And  thus  addressed  him  :  '  Father,  I  to  thee 
Am  present ;  for  my  country,  and  for  all 
The  land  of  Greece,  I  freely  give  myself 
A  victim  :  to  the  altar  let  them  lead  me. 
Since  such  the  oracle.     If  aught  on  me 
Depends,  be  happy,  and  obtain  the  prize 
Of  glorious  conquest,  and  revisit  safe 
Your  country.     Of  the  Grecians,  for  this  cause. 
Let  no  one  touch  me  ;  with  intrepid  spirit 
Silent  will  I  present  my  neck.'     She  spoke. 
And  all  that  heard  revered  the  noble  soul 
And  virtue  of  the  virgin." 

36 


422  APPENDIX. 

How  quickly  had  the  fair  bud  bloomed  up  into  its  perfection  ! 
Had  she  lived  a  thousand  years,  she  could  not  have  surpassed  this. 
Goethe's  Iphigenia,  the  mature  Woman,  with  its  myriad  delicate 
traits,  never  surpasses,  scarcely  equals,  what  we  know  of  her  in 
Euripides. 

Can  I  appreciate  this  work  in  a  translation  ?  I  think  so,  im- 
possible as  it  may  seem  to  one  who  can  enjoy  the  thousand  melo- 
dies, and  words  in  exactly  the  right  place,  and  cadence  of  the 
original.  They  say  you  can  see  the  Apollo  Belvidere  in  a  plaster 
cast,  and  I  cannot  doubt  it,  so  great  the  benefit  conferred  on  my 
mind  by  a  transcript  thus  imperfect.  And  so  with  these  transla- 
tions from  the  Greek.  I  can  divine  the  original  through  this  veil, 
as  I  can  see  the  movements  of  a  spirited  horse  by  those  of  his 
coarse  grasscloth  mufiler.  Besides,  every  translator  who  feels  his 
subject  is  inspired,  and  the  divine  Aura  informs  even  his  stam- 
mering lips. 

Iphigenia  is  more  like  one  of  the  women  Shakspeare  loved  than 
the  others;  she  is  a  tender  virgin,  ennobled  and  strengthened  by 
sentiment  more  than  intellect ;  what  they  call  a  Woman  par  excel- 
lence. 

Macaria  is  more  like  one  of  Massinger's  women.  She  advances 
boldly,  though  with  the  decorum  of  her  sex  and  nation  : 

**  Macaria.    Impute  not  boldness  to  me  that  I  come 

Before  you,  strangers  ;  this  my  first  request 

I  urge  ;  for  silence  and  a  chaste  reserve 

Is  Woman's  genuine  praise,  and  to  remain 

Quiet  within  the  house.     But  I  come  forth, 

Hearing  thy  lamentations,  lolaus  ; 

Though  charged  with  no  commission,  yet  perhaps 

I  may  be  useful."  *  * 

Her  speech  when  she  offers  herself  as  the  victim  is  reasonable, 
as  one  might  speak  to-day.  She  counts  the  cost  all  through. 
Iphigenia  is  too  timid  and  delicate  to  dwell  upon  the  loss  of 
earthly  bliss  and  the  due  experience  of  life,  even  as  much  as  Jeph- 
tha's  daughter  did  ;  but  Macaria  is  explicit,  as  well  befits  the 
daughter  of  Hercules. 


APPENDIX.  423 

**  Should  these  die,  myself 
Preserved,  of  prosperous  future  could  I  form 
One  cheerful  hope  ? 

A  poor  forsaken  virgin  who  would  deign 
To  take  in  marriage?    Who  would  wish  for  sons 
From  one  so  wretched  ?     Better  then  to  die. 
Than  bear  such  undeserved  miseries  ; 
One  less  illustrious  this  might  more  beseem. 

*  *  * 

I  have  a  soul  that  unreluctantly 
Presents  itself,  and  I  proclaim  aloud 
That  for  my  brothers  and  myself  I  die. 
I  am  not  fond  of  life,  but  think  I  gain 
An  honorable  prize  to  die  with  glory." 

Still  nobler  when  lolaus  proposes  rather  that  she  shall  draw 
lots  with  her  sisters. 

"  By  lot  I  will  not  die,  for  to  such  death 
No  thanks  are  due,  or  glory  —  name  it  not. 
If  you  accept  me,  if  my  offered  life 
Be  grateful  to  you,  willingly  I  give  it 
For  these  ;  but  by  constraint  I  will  not  die.'* 

Very  fine  are  her  parting  advice  and  injunctions  to  them  all : 

**  Farewell  !  revered  old  man,  farewell !  and  teach 
These  youths  in  all  things  to  be  wise,  like  thee. 
Naught  will  avail  them  more." 

Macaria  has  the  clear  Minerva  eye ;  Antigone's  is  deeper  and 
more  capable  of  emotion,  but  calm ;  Iphigenia's  glistening, 
gleaming  with  angel  truth,  or  dewy  as  a  hidden  violet. 

I  am  sorry  that  Tennyson,  who  spoke  with  such  fitness  of  all 
the  others  in  his  "  Dream  of  fair  Women,"  has  not  of  Iphigenia. 
Of  her  alone  he  has  not  made  a  fit  picture,  but  only  of  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  sacrifice.  He  can  never  have  taken  to  heart 
this  work  of  Euripides,  yet  he  was  so  worthy  to  feel  it.  Of  Jeph- 
tha's  daught3r  he  has  spoken  as  he  would  of  Iphigenia,  both  in 
her  beautiful  song,  and  when 


424  APPENDIX. 

*•  I  heard  Him,  for  He  spake,  and  grief  became 
A  solemn  scorn  of  ills. 

It  comforts  me  in  this  one  thought  to  dwell  — 
That  I  subdued  me  to  my  father's  will ; 

Because  the  kiss  he  gave  me,  ere  I  fell. 
Sweetens  the  spirit  still. 

Moreover  it  is  written,  that  my  race 

Hewed  Ammon,  hip  and  thigh,  from  Arroer 

Or  Arnon  unto  Minneth.     Here  her  face 
Glowed  as  I  looked  on  her. 

She  locked  her  lips  ;  she  left  me  where  I  stood  ; 

'  Glory  to  God,'  she  sang,  and  past  afar, 
Thridding  the  sombre  boskage  of  the  woods. 

Toward  the  morning-star." 

In  the  *  Trojan  dames  "  there  are  fine  touches  of  nature  with 
regard  to  Cassandra.  Hecuba  shovrs  that  mixture  of  shame  and 
reverence  that  prose  kindred  always  do,  towards  the  inspired 
child,  the  poet,  the  elected  sufferer  for  the  race. 

When  the  herald  announces  that  she  is  chosen  to  be  the  mis- 
tress of  Agamemnon,  Hecuba  answers  indignant,  and  betraying 
the  involuntary  pride  and  faith  she  felt  in  this  daughter. 

**  The  virgin  of  Apollo,  whom  the  God, 
Radiant  with  golden  locks,  allowed  to  live 
In  her  pure  vow  of  maiden  chastity  ? 

Tal.     With  love  the  raptured  virgin  smote  his  heart. 

Hec.     Cast  fx'om  thee,  0  my  daughter,  cast  away 

Thy  sacred  wand  ;  rend  off  the  honored  wreaths. 
The  splendid  ornaments  that  grace  thy  brows." 

But  the  moment  Cassandra  appears,  singing  wildly  her  inspired 
song,  Hecuba  calls  her 

"  My  frantic  child." 

Yet  how  graceful  she  is  in  her  tragic  phrenzy,  the  chorus 
shows  — 

*'  How  sweetly  at  thy  house's  ills  thou  smilest, 
Chanting  what  haply  thou  wilt  not  show  true  !  " 


APPENDIX.  425 

But  if  Hecuba  dares  not  trust  her  highest  instinct  about  her 
daughter,  still  less  can  the  vulgar  mind  of  the  herald  (a  man  not 
without  tenderness  of  heart,  but  with  no  princely,  no  poetic 
blood)  abide  the  wild,  prophetic  mood  which  insults  his  prejudices 
both  as  to  country  and  decorums  of  the  sex.  Yet  Agamemnon, 
though  not  a  noble  man,  is  of  large  mould,  and  could  admire  this 
strange  beauty  which  excited  distaste  in  common  minds. 

*'  Tal     What  commands  respect,  and  is  held  high 
As  wise,  is  nothing  better  than  the  mean 
Of  no  repute  ;  for  this  most  potent  king 
Of  all  the  Grecians,  the  much-honored  son 
Of  Atreus,  is  enamored  with  his  prize. 
This  frantic  raver.     I  am  a  poor  man. 
Yet  would  I  not  receive  her  to  my  bed." 

Cassandra  answers,  with  a  careless  disdain, 
"  This  is  a  busy  slave." 

With  all  the  lofty  decorum  of  manners  among  the  ancients, 
how  free  was  their  intercourse,  man  to  man,  how  full  the  mutual 
understanding  between  prince  and  "  busy  slave  !  "  Not  here  in 
adversity  only,  but  in  the  pomp  of  power  it  was  so.  Kings  were 
approached  with  ceremonious  obeisance,  but  not  hedged  round 
with  etiquette  ;  they  could  see  and  know  their  fellows. 

The  Andromache  here  is  just  as  lovely  as  that  of  the  Iliad. 

To  her  child  whom  they  are  about  to  murder,  the  same  that 
was  frightened  at  the  "  glittering  plume,"  she  says, 

•'  Dost  thou  weep, 
My  son  ?     Hast  thou  a  sense  of  thy  ill  fate  ? 
Why  dost  thou  clasp  me  with  thy  hands,  why  hold 
My  robes,  and  shelter  thee  beneath  my  wings. 
Like  a  young  bird  ?    No  more  my  Hector  comes. 
Returning  from  the  tomb  ;  he  grasps  no  more 
His  glittering  spear,  bringing  protection  to  thee." 

*  *  at  *  * 

*  *  ♦'  0,  soft  embrace. 
And  to  thy  mother  dear.    0,  fragrant  Ireath  ! 

36* 


426  APPENDIX. 

In  vain  I  swathed  thy  infant  limbs,  in  vain 
I  gave  thee  nurture  at  this  breast,  and  toiled, 
Wasted  with  care.     If  ever,  now  embrace. 
Now  clasp  thy  mother  ;  throw  thine  ai'ms  around 
My  neck,  and  join  thy  cheek,  thy  lips  to  mine." 

As  I  look  up,  I  meet  the  eyes  of  Beatrice  Cenci.  Beautiful 
one !  these  v^oes,  even,  vyere  less  than  thine,  yet  thou  seemest  to 
understand  them  all.  Thy  clear,  melancholy  gaze  says,  they,  at 
least,  had  known  moments  of  bliss,  and  the  tender  relations  of 
nature  had  not  been  broken  and  polluted  from  the  very  first. 
Yes  !  the  gradations  of  woe  are  all  but  infinite  :  only  good  can  be 
infinite. 

Certainly  the  Greeks  knew  more  of  real  home  intercourse  and 
more  of  Woman  than  the  Americans.  It  is  in  vain  to  tell  me  of 
outward  observances.  The  poets,  the  sculptors,  always  tell  the 
truth.  In  proportion  as  a  nation  is  refined,  women  must  have  an 
ascendency.     It  is  the  law  of  nature. 

Beatrice !  thou  wert  not  "  fond  of  life,"  either,  more  than 
those  princesses.  Thou  wert  able  to  cut  it  down  in  the  full  flower 
of  beauty,  as  an  offering  to  the  best  known  to  thee.  Thou  wert  not 
so  happy  as  to  die  for  thy  country  or  thy  brethren,  but  thou  wert 
worthy  of  such  an  occasion. 

In  the  days  of  chivalry.  Woman  was  habitually  viewed  more  as 
an  ideal ;  but  I  do  not  know  that  she  inspired  a  deeper  and  more 
home-felt  reverence  than  Iphigenia  in  the  breast  of  Achilles,  or 
Macaria  in  that  of  her  old  guardian,  lolaus. 

We  may,  with  satisfaction,  add  to  these  notes  the  words  to 
which  Haydirhas  adapted  his  magnificent  music  in  "  The  Crea 
tion." 

"  In  native  worth  and  honor  clad,  with  beauty,  courage, 
strength  adorned,  erect  to  heaven,  and  tall,  he  stands,  a  Man  !  — 
the  lord  and  king  of  all !  The  large  and  arched  front  sublime  of 
wisdom  deep  declares  the  seat,  and  in  his  eyes  with  brightness 
shines  the  soul,  the  breath  and  image  of  his  God.  With  fondness 
leans  upon  his  breast  the  partner  for  him  formed, —  a  woman 
fair,  and  graceful  spouse.  Her  softly  smiling  virgin  looks,  of 
flowery  spring  the  mirror,  l)e8peak  him  love,  and  joy  and  bliss." 


APPENDIX.  427 

"Whoever  has  heard  this  music  must  have  a  mental  standard  as 
to  what  Man  and  Woman  should  be.  Such  was  marriage  in 
Eden,  when  "  erect  to  heaven  he  stood  ;  "  but  since,  like  other 
institutions,  this  must  be  not  only  reformed,  but  revived,  the  fol- 
lowing lines  may  be  oftered  as  a  picture  of  something  intermediate, 
—  the  seed  of  the  future  growth  :  — 

H. 

THE  SACRED  MARRIAGE. 

And  has  another's  life  as  large  a  scope  ? 
It  may  give  due  fulfilment  to  thy  hope, 
And  every  portal  to  the  unknown  may  ope. 

If,  near  this  other  life,  thy  inmost  feeling 
Trembles  with  fateful  prescience  of  revealing 
The  future  Deity,  time  is  still  concealing  ; 

If  thou  feel  thy  whole  force  drawn  more  and  more 
To  launch  that  other  bark  on  seas  without  a  shore  ; 
And  no  still  secret  must  be  kept  in  store  ; 

If  meannesses  that  dim  each  temporal  deed. 

The  dull  decay  that  mars  the  fleshly  weed. 

And  flower  of  love  that  seems  to  fall  and  leave  no  seed  — 

Hide  never  the  full  presence  from  thy  sight 

Of  mutual  aims  and  tasks,  ideals  bright. 

Which  feed  their  roots  to-day  on  all  this  seeming  blight. 

Twin  stars  that  mutual  circle  in  the  heaven. 

Two  parts  for  spiritual  concord  given. 

Twin  Sabbaths  that  inlock  the  Sacred  Seven  ; 

Still  looking  to  the  centre  for  the  cause. 
Mutual  light  giving  to  draw  out  the  powers, 
And  learning  all  the  other  groups  by  cognizance  of  one  another's 
laws. 

The  parent  love  the  wedded  love  includes  ; 
The  one  permits  the  two  their  mutual  moods  ; 
The  two  each  other  know,  'mid  myriad  multitudes  ; 


428 


APPENDIX. 


With  child-like  intellect  discerning  love. 
And  mutual  action  energizing  love. 
In  myriad  forms  affiliating  love. 

A  world  whose  seasons  bloom  from  pole  to  pole, 
A  force  which  knows  both  starting-point  and  goal, 
A  Home  in  Heaven,— the  Union  in  the  Soul. 


>*^  OF  THB    ^ 

[UiriVERSITT] 


10 


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